


Once upon a captain and his swan...

by kissmelikeapirate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Times, Romance, Smut, unshown moments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-03-09 17:52:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 45,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3258920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissmelikeapirate/pseuds/kissmelikeapirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various one shots, M rated and above, exploring the more private times of Emma and Killian as they explore their growing replationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The new place he had rented was only a short walk from the loft, one of four small apartments that resided in a three story building with a faded wooden facade and ancient windows that desperately needed polishing. Not much more than a large room with a basic kitchenette fighting for space with a loveseat and divan bed; then as almost an afterthought, a small bathroom tucked into one corner. No shower, just one of those old enamel tubs that took forever to warm up.

But it was something, he’d said. A place to lay his head. 

(More permanent, was the message laced between the words.

He’s staying, she’d realized.)

From nothing but four walls and a faded rug came grudgingly accepted from the residents of the town.

( _Swan, I need no charity._

_They just want to help you out, Killian_ ).

Plates and mugs from Granny. A heavy oak side table from Belle. A worn but cozy couch that Archie had donated from his office.

Slowly a home was formed.

It was a Friday. Emma came home, later than usual after a collision on Main Street had sent four of the dwarves to the hospital and landed her with a pile of paperwork. The loft was quiet. She shrugged off her jacket and wandered into the kitchen to make a soothing cup of cocoa.

On the countertop, she found a cardboard box, a note taped to the top in Mary Margaret’s fluid script.

_‘Emma,_

_I put together some things Killian might find useful. Would you mind dropping them off?_

_Love_

_Mom_

_P.S. - we’ve taken Henry and Neal to dinner at Granny’s.’_

Emma smiled, shaking her head at her mother. This was at least the fourth box she had made up for the pirate. Peeking inside she saw a plaid blanket, a bottle of dish soap, some loose candles and a half bottle of rum that Emma remembered from David’s last birthday. She shook her head, always amazed at Mary Margaret’s need to mother everyone (which was part of what she loved about her mom).

Her eyes flickered to the kettle, stomach feeling cold and empty. The thought of a hot drink sating her briefly, until she glanced back at the care package to her left.

A quick sigh and a bitten bottom lip, then both jacket and box were quickly picked up and the loft was empty again.

///

It was heavier than she had realized. Her fingers were cramping by the time she reached his building - instantly thankful that the old fashioned pirate didn’t believe in locks and keys on lodgings. ( _Who would steal from a pirate?_ he’d grinned.)

Creaking stairs snaked their way to the top floor. The air a little damp, not as cozy as Granny’s for sure, but still a place. A home (almost).

Atop the landing, she paused and hoisted the box onto her hip, rapping her knuckles against the door and waiting for the customary ‘aye’. But silence was her only greeting (mingled with the faint sounds of an old building: tapping pipes and whistling drafts).

The stiff doorknob twisted with some reluctance, the door also whining in protest as she pushed into the room, stumbling a little over her feet when her toes hit the small ‘welcome’ mat inside. (A gift from Grumpy, ironically.)

Setting the box down on the table Belle sent from the pawn shop (the one stacked high with books from the library - tomes of this world’s history and guides to the navigation of this realm’s seas), she took a moment, letting her eyes wander around the place. Almost every day she visited Killian, and almost every day she saw more of him in the space. The few paintings on the walls (of oceans and boats - that made her heart clench), the pile of dark shirts that lived by his bed (a laundry basket would be useful…) and the snug bed itself, pushed in the corner with its simple plain blankets.

(She flushed. This was an area she was very well acquainted with already.)

The last daylight was still lingering in the sky, filtering through the aged panes of glass, catching on dancing filaments of dust - hanging in the air, as if time stood still there.

It was then she noticed the sound of running water, gently falling upon itself, tumbling together in a soft chug. The bathroom door was ajar. She crept closer, hand automatically going to the sidearm she was still wearing, consciously avoiding the floorboards beside the couch that she knew had a tendency to squeak.

(Though, who else would it be?)

And- 

_Oh-_

Through the gap and the mist that was beginning to fill the small room, she could see Killian. There was only one small window to that part of the apartment and a bare bulb that hung on a chain from the ceiling, yet remained unlit.

Emma watched, silently metering her breathing, as he peeled away the undershirt he had taken to wearing on these colder days. The thin white cotton peeling slowly his skin, the tawny flesh beneath, almost honey colored in the fading light. 

Every curve, every muscle was caressed by the final rays of sunshine. His head turned away as he pulled the shirt over his shoulders, Emma’s breath briefly caught in the back of her throat as the broad definition of his shoulders was impossible to miss. Those well-defined planes with their firm dips, that she knew felt silky to the touch, except where that fine layer of hair gathered over his chest -just where she liked to lay her head (or where her breasts would touch when they made love).

A prickling of shame gathered on her cheeks. It was so voyeuristic, watching him in these private moments, going about his routine as the bathroom filled with warm moist air, scented with the cinnamon bath oil she had given him.

(‘Cinnamon, Swan?’ She’d winked. ‘My favorite spice.’)

Steam rose about him, twisting into turreted peaks that dissipated towards the ceiling, billowing out of the room towards where she stood in the colder air. 

The shirt set aside, he turned to the bath. The light was now dancing over his shoulders as he moved, casting shadows over his collarbones and the straight lines of his shoulders that had her fingers itching to touch- aching to feel his skin beneath her fingers as a surge of need pulsed through her. Not a lusty, heady need. Something deeper, more intimate, a need to be near him, to hold him, to prove to herself once again that this was (he was) real-

Reeling back, her eyes darted away as he pushed down his trousers and made for the tub where the water was still gurgling from the faucet. Which of course, was ridiculous, as his naked form was nothing new to her-

But this was different.

Softly swallowing, she froze, fighting inside, feeling silly and fretful and a thousand other things that Emma Swan does not feel-

“Swan?”

Her heart thudded and her eyes slipped closed.

“Are you coming in, or is being a peeping Tom more your style?”

Her mouth opened, but no words escaped.

_Damn pirate._

Twisting her mouth in an attempt to show she wasn’t enjoying his teasing (she was) Emma grasped the edge of the door and pulled it back, revealing a Killian now fully ensconced in the old fashioned bathtub.

“How long have you known I was here?”

He was laying back against the rolled edge to the tub, his arms laid along its sides in a casual, relaxed pose.

“Long enough,” he drawled, tilting his head in her direction and raising an eyebrow. “Who am I to deny a woman a little visual pleasure?”

“Why, you-“

And she really wanted to throw something, but her hands were empty, so she settled with giving a scowl and a stern look.

“Scoundrel?” he offered, cocking back his chin so his Adam’s apple bobbed.

Casting him a scathing glance she took a step further into the room, “I was going to go with miscreant.”

“Ouch - you wound me,” he teased, rolling back his head until it was tipped back again on the edge of the tub.

“You’re bulletproof,” she quipped in return.

He didn’t respond, instead, moving forward in the tub with a squeak of flesh against enamel, gathering up a handful of water and splashing it against his face.

“So are you just going to stand there?”

“Well,” she began, folding her arms and lying back against the door jam. “The view isn’t bad.”

He raised a brow as her eyes glanced over what she could see of his body - the hot water already leaving his chest slicked with moisture. Catching her eye, he smirked and cocked his head before reached for a handful of water and splashing it over his face.

“Oh, but you’re so far away, love. Most things are best viewed up close.”

She bit back her smile, knowing he was teasing her, enjoying the unfamiliar casual intimacy between them.

“Okay, _love,”_ she retorted, “Where would you suggest I place myself?”

Briefly, he twisted his face, puffed out his chest, and gave her an eyeful of its damp flesh. “Here would be good.” She watched as he lifted up his hand from the water and tapped on the tub’s edge.

“I suppose,” she sighed, reaching for the button that held her holster around her hip, and letting it slide slowly to the floor and then reaching for her jacket.

“A little hot, love?”

“Just getting comfortable,” she murmured back, the soft leather landing silently before she toed off her boots and socks. She glanced over at the tub. Bubbles lingered on the surface, forming small peaks and valleys that masked his body, broken by his torso and the bend of his knees that just reached the bubbly skin.

The scent of cinnamon had intensified since she had shut the door. The spiciness clung to the back of her nose, tingling her senses as she took the few steps to the tub. As she watched, he picked the sponge that had been floating on the water and squeezed out some of the excess water. “Care to help? Having one hand does have the occasional disadvantage.”

Emma raised a brow, holding back the urge to roll her eyes and instead taking the offered sponge. “And where would you like some assistance? Back? Feet? Some other _area_?”

Pleased with the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed heavily, she perched on the tub’s rim, nonchalantly crossing her legs as she let her eyes trail over the exposed skin. One hand or not - it didn’t change the fact that he was a very attractive man. _Her_ very attractive man.

“Perhaps my back first, don’t want to get too far ahead of ourselves.”

Straight away he pushed himself forward, giving Emma an eyeful of his ass as the bubbles swirled and swished until she had a clear view of his back. “I have no idea what you mean,” she smiled to herself as she began to dab at his back with soft, teasing strokes, squeezing more water over the muscles that flexed and twisted as he shifted his body.

Quickly, her t-shirt became saturated by splashes of water. The steam in the room was curling the shorter tendrils of hair that hugged her face. Automatically, she reached back with one hand and pulled out her hair band, the blonde locks pooling behind her shoulders as she whispered, a little breathlessly, “Done.”

Killian glanced back at her, his blue eyes starkly glistening against the whiteness of the room, his tongue nipping out to moisten his bottom lip as a second passed and her heart thudded heavily with the anticipation of what she knew was to come.

“Thank you,” he nodded, leaning back a little, so more of his torso was exposed, including the trail of hair that ran from his navel to the dark patch she could see just below the water.

She shifted along the tub’s edge a little, letting the sponge drop into the water and her fingers trail over the surface, picking up a handful of bubbles and blowing until they floated up in the air.

“Your shirt,” he said, finally noticing her state, “Perhaps you should remove it. To protect it, from further… ills.”

Rubbing her hands on her jeans, she nodded, “Good idea,” pulling up the shirt and tossing it in the direction of her jacket. “Better?” she teased, thankful she wore a decent bra today, but even more so enjoying the way his pupils dilated as they ran over her now semi-bare form.

“Aye,” he answered with a cock of his head.

Her straying fingers dipped back into the water, swirling patterns until she dipped a little lower and made contact with one firm, muscular thigh. He let out a soft groan as she dragged her fingers over the sodden, hair covered skin, drawing circles and running her thumb over the flesh, raking higher and higher until she brushed his soft curls.

“Swan,” he cried softly, his eyes closing as she fingers made contact with his firm erection, the skin even more velvety from the oils in the water, her hand grasping him, running over length as he sighed deeply.

These breaths became ever more ragged as she pressed her fingers tighter and moved a little faster, her free hand reaching out to touch his shoulders and chest, exploring his body, seeking out every unknown spot as she unashamedly marveled in form that had lasted him centuries yet seemed so untouched and youthful; it unleashed a feral need to own him.

She bent over to kiss him, the contact taking him by surprise, taking a moment for him to respond to the kiss, his arm swooping around her shoulder and pulling her closer. Harder she kissed, bruising his mouth, wanting to brand the flesh as much as she knew she owned the heart. 

His hips were bucking upwards, the water splashing over the edge from their movements, her jeans quickly becoming sodden until he was panting into her mouth, his body clenching beneath her palm, each muscle hardening and contracting until he let out a load, heady groan, his head sinking back against the enamel covered surface.

As he caught his breath, she rested her forehead against his, brushing her lips against his cheek, feeling the hot glow of his climax rising upon it. Her hand moved to lay on his stomach, his erection fading as she felt a smile grow on his lips.

“Well, that was something.”

“Something?” she repeated, pinching his flesh until he grunted softly. “I’ll remember not to bother next-“

His hands were in her hair, the water they carried dousing the tendrils and soaking them as he pulled her into a passionate, unexpected kiss. “Something amazing,” he added, catching her bottom lip between his teeth in the way that made her shiver.

“That’s better,” she teased, nudging her nose against him. “But now I’m soaked,” she sighed in mock sadness.

“Well, we can’t have that love. Perhaps we need to dry you off?”

Their faces were so close, she could feel the heat building again. His words were low and deliciously sinful against the skin of her neck as nuzzled closer.

“Good plan,” she replied, almost panting as his lips met her neck, gathering the determination to pull away. Standing on shaky legs, she turned her back and unhooked her bra and jeans, trying to push them down as seductively as the damp material would allow. Picking up her clothes, she turned and winked, “Whenever you’re ready…”

She let her voice trail off as she walked away, enjoying hear him scramble for the plug as she swung her hips and decided that bath time with Killian was something she would have to make sure happened more often.

 

 


	2. Needs must be met

"We shouldn't…"

The hollow words disappeared into the still air of the loft.

His lips were on her neck, his fingers clawing at her tights and underwear, dragging them over her thighs impatiently. Blunt fingernails scraped across her skin, making her gasp and shudder.

Pressing her chest up into him, she dug her fingers into his hair, taking a firm hold of those eternally disheveled locks. The layer of scruff he wore was now scratching her breasts as he worked lower and she silently thanked herself for this morning's decision to wear this dress - the one with the short flirty skirt and the low neckline (the one she had  _not_ noticed he found particularly appealing…)

Soon her tights and underwear were tossed to the floor his fingers joined his mouth, licking an eager path along the edge of the dress until he reached inside and pulled out one breast. A cool flush ran over her, until his finger and thumb began to work at her dusky pink nipple and it quickly hardened - bringing along with it a rush of heat between her legs.

"Mary Margaret…"she began to protest, instantly silenced when his mouth clamped down on her skin, his tongue circling her firm peak as he suckled at her breast. A shot of electricity ran down her body straight to her core and God, she  _needed_ him right now more than she'd needed anything ever before.

"School doesn't finish for another 15 minutes love,"he replied, in an almost offhand manner as he slid the dress down over her other breast, kneading it softly until she let out a whispered curse. He rubbed his face against her again; lips searching for the unconquered peak, while his hand slid once up her thigh. So close…

But then he paused, pulling back a little. She was panting, the wall at her back, the only thing keeping her standing. "What the hell?"she gasped.

His tongue ran over his lips and his eyebrow rose in that suggestive way that she secretly loved –though she'd never admit that to him. He didn't say anything, merely curved the edge of his mouth into a mischievous smile, before hooking one arm around her waist and hoisting her against his hips. She instinctively wrapped her legs around him, eyes rolling shut as she felt  _just how much_  he wanted her, his cock pressing at her clit through the thick layer of denim. It felt so damn good.

Just as quickly he was laying her down - hand back on her thigh, lips pressed to her chest, cool metal of his hook dragging slowly down her arm. She looked up, momentarily confused until she realized where they were.

"My room's upstairs, Killian."

"Too far,"he whispered, fingers now tracing the edges of her folds. She could feel just how wet he had made her and she silently cursed her own body for being so subservient to his ministrations.

"But this is Mary Margaret's bed-"she was cut short as his thumb found her clit and began to rub against it in tight little circles.

"Needs must be met, love,"he answered, his teeth scraping her soft pink lip, a finger pressing against her entrance; the overwhelming urge to have him consume her blanking out all other thoughts.

"Fuck,"she murmured as he slowly dipped his finger inside and the well of heat in her stomach began to throb and grow.

"So wet Emma,"he purred into her ear, his tongue flicking out and tracing that little spot behind her ear that had her cramping around him in delicious anticipation. "Do you want me to fuck you now?"

Each luscious word dripped off his tongue - sweet as honey, smooth as silk - making her stomach clench tighter in expectation of what was to come.

"Yes,"she replied, barely a whisper, too distracted by the feelings that were swirling inside to form coherent thoughts.

Then another finger was thrusting inside her, curving at that spot that made the room darken and bright sparks appear at the edge of her vision. Her hips ground into the bed, her feet scrambled for his legs, trying to pull him closer. "Please…"she whined. Her back arched, she tried to press their bodies together as she reached up and ran her fingers roughly through his hair, tugging until he looked up.

"Well, if you insist,"he smirked. But she could see the unbridled lust in his eyes - the way his pupils had grown wide, almost wiping out the blue and the intense, fiery gaze that made her feel utterly desired.

"Fucking pirate,"she muttered, watching as he lay on his hooked arm and undid the fly of his jeans, pulling out his cock and giving himself a couple of quick strokes, before he crawled over her - in such a sexy, confident way that made her stomach shift in anticipation.

"You fucking love it,"he teased, rubbing the thick, hot top of his erection against her. She bit on her lip, wrapping her hands around his neck, pulling him down into a rough, messy kiss, curving up her hips up until he was just starting to enter her.

"Christ,"she moaned. The stretch felt so damned good. So tight and full…She struggled to loop her legs around him, finally gaining some traction that allowed her to tug him closer, making him thrust his hips into hers as she whined. She felt so  _goddamned_ full.

Greedy for more, she squirmed against him, seeking that spot inside her that made her toes curl and her eyes see stars. She clenched her muscles, squeezing him tighter.

"Minx,"he growled, tugging her lip between his teeth, circling his hips until he plunged into her and began to thrust. Hard. Fast.

Fuck, it felt  _incredible._

Lying on her mother's bed, dress pulled half off, fucking the hottest man she had ever been with in clear view of a door which could open at any time, made her feel wild and free and wicked.

Every sensation was magnified. He felt thicker, and longer, and hotter than before as he lay inside her, making her feel so achingly complete that she wanted to crawl into herself and stay in this feeling forever. Every movement he made had her lurching towards the edge, the friction and the slide and the scratch of his jeans against her thighs all working together to leave her panting and begging.

"Killian…Please…Oh God…"

He relentlessly worked his hips, giving her no respite. "Do you know how you feel, clenched around my cock like a vice? You feel like heaven sweetheart. Hot, wet, tight heaven."

The words had her stomach rippling in pleasure. God she  _loved it_ when he talked during sex.

"Tell me more,"she panted, digging her nails into his skin, struggling for a tighter grip as a slick sheen of sweat formed over her skin.

"You're such a libertine, love. Tits out, skirt around your waist, getting fucked on your own mother's bed-"

Her breathing hitched and she looked up into his eyes, she tried to speak but the words wouldn't form. She was blank, empty of thoughts. All she could think of was him and how he was making her feel.

His hand found its way to her ass and he began to squeeze the soft flesh.

"Such a wanton thing."

Now his speech was coming in shuddered spurts. He was losing control. She was making this man -this cocky, self-assured, sexual deviant turn into a quivering mess. And hell she loved it.

He took a deep breath and she took the chance to tighten her legs and roll them over, quickly settling down on his hips, taking him just that little bit deeper.

Palms on his chest, she began to rock against him, almost recklessly, letting herself get lost in the sensation. She was using him, searching for that tug and burn and warmth…

The feeling inside multiplied quickly. Leaning over him, she pushed her breasts into his face and he obediently attached himself to her, licking her nipple and sucking - just the right side of hard.

"Oh god I'm coming,"she warned, her movements becoming less coordinated, more erratic, quicker, faster…

Chasing her release, she balled her fingers in his shirt. His breath was hot on her skin and he was bucking up into her.

She wasn't sure how much more she could take.

The tension broke with a final circle of her hips. The delicious cramping pushed wave after wave of pleasure through her limbs that quickly turned into a cool buzz on her skin - a tingle almost, electric.

He was still moving beneath her, drawing out her sensations, until he grabbed her hips, pushing up hard, and froze. A strangled moan escaped his lips, followed by an incoherent, muttered curse. A warm, pleasant buzz started to flood her body. Calm. Peace. Satisfaction.

For a few moments, she let herself stay still, enjoy the aftershocks of her orgasm and the feel of him inside her. Then she reluctantly disentangled their bodies, reaching down and kissing his cheek before she pushed herself to stand, picking up her tights as she stumbled towards the bathroom.

* * *

A few minutes later, refreshed and fully dressed once more, she stepped back into the living area. She froze.

There was the guy she had just fucked (well and truly fucked) sitting at the dining room table as her mother filled the kettle.

"Hi Emma, I got out of school a little early. Power outage. Tea?"she asked, holding up the kettle. Wordless, she nodded and walked towards the two.

When she reached the table, her eyes flickered towards the bed where she'd been only minutes earlier. The covers were a little ruffled and her shoes were still where she had left them, discarded by the wall.

Her cheeks flushed.

She sat down next to Killian as her mother turned to put the kettle on the stove. Quickly, he shot her a look - a wicked smile followed by a quick wink.

Bloody pirate, she thought, even as her stomach flipped thinking about what would have happened if they had gone on just a little longer.

And weirdly, the thought didn't scare her. It excited her. The thought of being caught filling a previously unknown craving for danger.

And as they sipped tea and talked about their days, she began to make a mental list of places.

Oh this was going to be fun.

_**Reviews are the food of my (sometimes reluctant!) muse! xo** _


	3. Good Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Emma waking Killian up with pleasurable activities ;)

He was warm against her back. Deliciously so.

It was strange how quickly she had grown accustomed to sharing a bed with him. Tugging on the covers when he rolled over in his sleep, entangling her legs in his, letting him swing his arm around her waist and pull her towards his chest: everything seemed so  _natural._

She secretly loved to watch him sleep as he lay by her side. It was really the only time she ever got to look at him - well, without him raising a brow at her, making some quip or she just got lost in those damn eyes of his.

Usually, he would fall asleep holding her close to his body. But during the night, he would slowly turn on his side until he lay on his back. Inevitably, the sheets would slip down over his chest, giving her a fine view of the layer of chest hair that she loved to run her fingers through when they lay together after making love.

Even though his eyes were shut - those beautiful eyes that spoke a thousand tales in one look - his dark lashes fanned over his skin and created an elegant, almost regal, visage. The fine, high bones of his cheeks contrasted sharply with the layer of rough stubble that was so  _him._ Killian Jones was quite the contradiction: pirate, hero, captivating yet still  _dangerous._

How quickly he had snuck into her heart and taken up residence still amazed her. It was like he had always been hers. Loving her, challenging her - just being there. Not asking for anything in return.

This morning her bedroom was still dark (it was still  _her_ room, though he slept there every night - she wanted to take things slow, in that regard). It was Spring but a storm had blown in overnight - rattling the shutters as they drifted to sleep and bringing with it the slate grey clouds that spelled a day of shadow and rain.

She nestled tighter against him. He sighed softly, his chin hitching up and resting on her shoulder and his scruff bristling against her skin. Couldn't every morning be like this? No dangers, no responsibilities, just the simple pleasure of sleep and warmth and  _love_.

Killian was making small, soft guttural sounds from the back of his throat and flinching lightly against her back. Dreaming, again. In their weeks together she had come to anticipate those dreams - nightmares perhaps - that sometimes taunted him. She'd learned to soothe him with soft words or a touch. Having lived for so long, many things preyed upon his mind. Things he'd seen, things he'd done… She didn't pry. That was the past and this - well, this was now.

Gently, she eased herself from his touch and pivoted to face her pirate. His hair was even more disheveled than usual. She smiled - trying to picture him with neat, slicked back hair. No, that would not be  _Killian._ Laying a soft hand on his chest, she trailed her fingers along the line of his ribs that spanned his broad chest. A smile played at his lips. She reached up her other hand and began to run her thumb across the little scar on his cheek then across his lips.  _Mine,_ she thought, you're  _mine._ The idea of someone truly being hers - and she being  _theirs_  - someone she knew, in her heart, she could trust… A breath caught in her throat and her chest began to throb a little. It was scary. But  _good._

Her fingers trailed lower, winding over his abdomen, circling the bones of his hips, finally reaching the warm, dark haired area at the apex of his legs.

She brushed against him and his breathing hitched - there was an instant reaction beneath her fingertips. His cock twitched and when she ran her fingers once more along his length, she felt the hardening as blood rushed to the area. Circling her fingers around him she thrilled in the sensation of him growing and thickening as she slowly kneaded his flesh and he began to groan lightly.

A humming sensation started to grow deep in her stomach. She loved the way he responded to her touch. The shallow breathing, the tilt of his hips, the small little smile on his lips that said  _more._

And she wanted to give him more. Much more.

The hand at his cheek slipped to his chest and softly rolled her still sleeping lover until he was on his back before peeling away the sheet so he was exposed to the still dim light of the room.

She gave herself a moment to just  _look_. It felt slightly voyeuristic but she knew he would love to think of her, looking at him, admiring him.

Love and lust swirled around her like a thick ribbon of need as she worked him into full hardness and his erection jutted up proudly. Just asking to be taken.

It was tempting to simply give in - work him into release and see the surprise on his face as he awoke to her. Because she really needed to see his response…

Yet instead she took her time; palms brushing his chest and thigh as she slowly dipped to within an inch of his tip.

She let a warm, moist breath gust over him and then flicked out her tongue, rolling it gently over the velvety tip of his cock. His hips rut up again and brush against her lips. Taking his cue, they part, letting him delve into the warmth of her mouth, gently closing around him so she can tease him further.

Her mouth gently pulls him deeper, encompassing him, having to widen her jaw to accommodate his size. As she works, her tongue presses against his slit then harder against that spot just below the head and she can feel him throb beneath her. The rush of blood and the feel of his pulse hot beneath her tongue.

He's more restless now. He'll wake soon.

Gingerly, she nudges a knee between his thighs and settles there. Because now she can see him. And hell she wants to see him. How his face changes as she presses her tongue and cheeks harder against him, how his eyelids flutter as she slowly envelopes his length, taking him deeper…

Still she wants to wake him gently. Take him lightly. At first.

So a hand reaches for the soft skin of his balls and she starts to cup them. Delicately then applying more pressure as the moments tick by.

The other makes a circle with her thumb and fore finger, wrapping them at the base of his cock and tightening just enough to create that little bit of friction as she rocks her hand in perfect rhythm with her mouth.

Her head bobs, tongue spiraling, fingers pressing - just that little amount that has his eye lids flinching with every motion.

Opening her throat, she goes deeper, he feels full at the back of her throat and she tries to steady her breathing, giving him a few dips fully into her until he mumbles, 'Emma."

She pauses and licks a strip up his length, rolling him in-between her fingers, giving him a few quick strokes before consuming him once more. But this time harder, deeper, _more_.

And she's still watching him when his eyes flash open.

His mouth drops and he's panting. His fingers are almost instantly in her hair.

"Emma?" he asks.

In response, she raises her brows and sucks harder until he cries out - "Fuck."

She leaves her hands around his length and lowers her head, working her tongue against that spot at the base of his cock, pressing and licking until he's writhing against the bed.

Working her hand harder, she takes one of his balls in her mouth, sucking just hard enough that he whines slightly until she pulls away with a soft pop before moving on to the other.

God she's getting so worked up she can feel the slick of heat between her legs. Seeking respite, she grinds herself against the bed as she eagerly reclaims him into her mouth.

"Emma," he repeats. This time it's more of a plea.

One arm reaches up to drag her nails down his chest, wanting to brand him, enjoying the tug on his skin that she knows will leave a stinging mark.

She's still working him. Getting faster, harder - keeping a pace that she knows he wants to increase by the way he's trying to buck against her mouth and the pained, exquisitely fucked expression on his face.

"Emma." Again.

But this time it has a warning tinge to it. It's heavier, darker…

She's dipping quicker now - alternating shallow thrusts with deep throated forays that keep him guessing and gasping.

Her fingers slide on the sweat that's clinging to him. He's close. She can tell by the way the head is more swollen. She sucks harder - hell its feels so good to take him in her mouth and be in control, to make him feel that way.

The noises he's now making are positively sinful. Pants and groans and moans and pleading sighs… God she wants him.

But this is  _about_ him. For now.

Her movements descend into a blur of tongue and teeth and lips and fingers and heat…

"Oh Gods…" he cries.

She pulls him deeper, harder: squeezing her fingers around him.

A strangled cry, mixed with a curse and a whispered "Emma," fill the air and her mouth starts to fill with his release. It's salty and hot and  _him_  and she eagerly swallows. He comes hard. He's shaking, his hand is tightening in her hair.

Still cherishing him, she slides her tongue over him until she's sure he is done. Then she lets him go and pushes up on her arms, lazily crawling up his body, meeting his wondrous, amazed gaze with a happy smile.

"Good morning," she purrs.

Her hair hangs around her shoulders like a cloak, wrapping the two in an intimate cocoon.

"Good morning to you," he smiles, dragging his legs around hers and using his knees to hitch her higher. "And to what do I owe this pleasure?"

He raises his brow and she has to laugh. God he's so cocky but she loves it.

A shrug is first reply, because she has no reason. She just wants to make him feel good.

"Just because," she whispered, kissing his forehead in a sweet gesture which seemed at odds with her actions of moments earlier.

"In that case, my love, I think I need to return the favor…"

And he gives her this slightly sleepy, adorable smile, tinged with the hint of sex that he always wears - then presses her onto her back, placing hot, eager kisses down her chest as she softly laughs and moans into his touch.

 _Mine,_ she thought,  _mine_ …

**Reviews and your feedback make the effort and time taken writing worthwhile :D**


	4. Oral Fixation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Context: Emma and Killian have slept together a couple of times but she's scared and won't say what it is between them and she is keeping it a secret - no one knows.]

It's too damn hot.

The sultry mid-summer air has filled The Rabbit Hole. Combined with the body heat of enough people to pack the place, the effect is unbearable. Hasn't Storybrooke heard of air conditioning, she grumbles to herself as she sips her rum and Coke.

Ruby, typically, is wearing minimal attire and she leans across the bar, promoting her ample cleavage as she orders another round. Emma smiles as she flirts with the flustered barman. She was certainly confident - maybe it was a wolf thing?

Tink is sitting on her other side, chewing on her straw as she chats to Emma about who knows what (because Emma is not really listening. Lately her mind has been…preoccupied). That is until her ears prick up at the mention of one name: "Hook."

"Huh?"Emma asks, swinging to face the petite blonde as Ruby slides a fresh hi-ball into her hand.

"Urgh, he's goddamn hot,"Ruby interjects, Emma looks to see her raise her eyebrows and then roll her straw suggestively between her teeth.

"You wouldn't be saying that if you knew him as well as I did. He's such a bloody flirt."

"That's what I like,"Ruby purred, leaning in a little closer so the trio were within whispering distance. Emma felt herself getting even warmer. Why are they talking about him? Why, why, why…

"But you know what I love?"she continued, "His mouth."

"His mouth?"Tink deadpans. Emma squirms in her seat and takes a large gulp of her drink. The rum stings her throat and she stifles the urge to cough.

"Yeah,"Ruby nods, biting on her own lip. "I mean, those lips - phew - I bet they taste f-ing amazing. And I mean he's like, what, a thousand years old-"

"More like 300,"Emma interjects without realizing. The others look at her and Ruby raises a brow until she looks back down into her glass, blushing.

"Whatever, he must know how to use it."

"Well, if you must know, a fairy sometimes hears things…"

"And?"

"Well," Tink smiled, and took a sip of her drink, "I can say he had quite the reputation on the grapevine."

"Were you never tempted?" Ruby asked, eyes widening.

"Please, he is not my type. Far too arrogant…"

Visions of his mouth flash before her eyes. She can feel his lips on hers. On her neck. On her chest…But she's not felt it there. Yet.

"I like a confident man. And that tongue? Have you seen the way he runs it along his lips? I mean, damn…"Ruby fans herself with her hand. "I bet he's dynamite in bed."

Emma's heart's beginning to beat faster. Is it the rum?

"Do you mean-"began the fairy.

Ruby picked up her glass, "I'm just saying I'd happily sit on his face if he asked."

"Ruby!"Tink hissed, looking around to see if anyone had heard.

"What about you Em? Fancy giving the pirate a round or two?"

The words washed over her: Emma couldn't think of anything else now. She was consumed with thoughts of his mouth - lips and tongue, running over her, teasing her, making her come again and again…

Quickly she poured the rest of her drink into her mouth, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

The other two looked at her skeptically. "In a rush?"Ruby asked.

"Work…I forgot something…at the station."

Emma mumbled over the lie. God it was a shitty lie. But thankfully the other two had drunk enough that they simply rolled their eyes and said they would see her the next day. She grabbed her denim jacket and headed for the door.

* * *

Her hand wavered at his door. It's balled in a fist, ready to knock.

It's hot between her thighs. The short walk to Granny's has only served to multiply the desire curling inside her.

Oh God this is a dumb idea. It's the booze, she knows it's the booze…

But she doesn't turn away, because the burn inside is too great and she needs to know. Now.

Hitching a breath, she moves her fingers to the handle and turns it.

Now, she's half expecting him not to be there. Maybe on the Jolly or downstairs having dinner.

But, crap, he is there.

And, holy shit, he looks good.

He's leaning back on the bed, a book raised in the air with his good hand, hooked arm behind his head, leather clad legs arranged nonchalantly over the covers. God she wants him. The man oozes pure sex.

And of course, his chest was bare which just pushed her over the edge.

"Emma,"he begins, lowering the book and smiling. "To what do I-"

But he's cut short as she quickly closes the door and shrugs off her jacket. She tosses it to the floor before closing the few short paces to his bed. Then she grabs the book from his fingers and throws it to the floor with a dull thud.

"Em-"

Her lips are on his. His mouth is soft and warm and pliant beneath her. Both hands cup his face and pull him to sit. Her nails dig into his hairline and her thumbs press along his jaw. She kisses him hungrily: devouring his mouth because she just wants to taste him and feel him and know him…

He's tugging her onto the bed now, pulling her onto him, wrapping his legs around hers and sliding his arm beneath her shirt - he's warm and his hands are slightly calloused which makes every touch  _that much better._ And she just wants to fuck him there and then - until he flicks out his tongue and runs it along her lip and she's reminded what she came here for.

Prying herself away, she holds his gaze as he pants and reluctantly releases her. She moistens her lips and she flicks the button of her jeans undone and then slides her palms down her hips, shimmying out of the tight denim at the same time as pushing down her panties so she's bare from the waist down. His eyes widen and her heart's beating even faster when she crawls back on the bed, straddling his body, sitting on his chest.

She runs a hand through his hair and he's looking at her - wonder and anticipation in his eyes. But neither speaks - neither wants to break the spell because neither of them know  _just what this is._

And he knows that whatever is happening, it's something she needs and words would just complicate things.

Her thumb is swiping over his lip, easing into his mouth: it's hot and damp and his tongue slides over her and circles the pad of the finger. She wriggles against him, trying to get  _just a little bit_ of friction.

Lithe hips buck up. She's wet and leaving a coat of arousal on his chest and of course he can feel it and she loves that. She wants him to know what he does to her. How much she wants him. All the time.

Fingers and hook press into her hips and she rolls her head, peeling off her shirt as she does. Because she wants him to see her and want her and need her.

Like she does him.

She smears a damp trail over his mouth then moves higher over him. He understands. He's sliding lower, lining up his mouth with her cunt. She's hovering over him. God his breath feels cool against her and she shivers in anticipation. He  _needs_ to touch her. Now. She  _needs_ to feel him. If she doesn't she might just shatter.

Her knees lower and then he's there: a swipe of the tongue and she's circling her hips.

The combination of stiff and soft and hot is killing her.

Circling her clit, then sucking, then licking, pulling across it with his teeth…Hell, he's working so hard she wishes her would stop 'cos it's all too much but she can't form the words and then she's falling so quickly-

She shudders as she comes. Her thighs tighten around his face, holding him in place. She feels hot, then cool. Then it all goes blank…

But he doesn't stop. If anything, he seems more focused.

As she comes to, she looks down. His face is slick with her wetness and he seems so damn into it her stomach is cramping again already. She lifts her hands and places them on the wall at the head of the bed.

"Killian,"she pants, rocking her lips against his as he continues to lave against her clit. Then he's pressing her higher on his face. His tongue is fucking her, gently at first and then harder. It feels strange but oh so good. At the same time the tip of his nose is rubbing her clit again and his fingers are pressing tighter…

"Yes,"she cries, "Oh fuck me…"

She swears he laughs a little, but really, she's too far gone to care. His tongue is delving into her, teasing licks and deep rolls and it's all wet and hot and sliding…

She can't help herself start to grind into his face. God, how can he breathe…

God, then she's coming again. Rolling heat passes over her and her muscles are clenching and her breathing is hitched and she just wants to collapse with exhaustion as every drop of energy seems to leak from her and she descends into a puddle of hormones and sensation. Sparks flash and she's barely aware when he's lifting her hips and rolling them both over.

He's sliding down her body, leaving a wet trail, tugging briefly on her nipples through her thin cotton bra.

She looks down. "Again?"she whispers. And God,  _he winks_  and her stomach contracts: she really doesn't know if you can take any more. But she's too spent to resist.

Her legs are loose and he nudges them wider with his hook. He languidly rolls his tongue over her, hovering by her cunt, taking a deep breath.

"You smell so good, love."

Then he latches on again and she cries out because she is  _just not ready._

He sucks on her clit. She's seeing stars and trying to press up her hips but now he's holding her down with his forearm.

"Please…"she begs.

He pulls away with a soft 'pop'. She looks down at him, nestled between her thighs. Eyes full of sex and lust, mussed up hair and a ridiculous grin on his face.

"Please,"she pants.

"So demanding,"he hissed.

And then she was  _full._ He pushes inside her: one finger. Two.  _Three_?

She didn't know but she was fit to burst. Those fingers scissor inside her, stretching and pressing against her walls. Each motion is almost unbearable - she's twitching and fluttering around him. He seems to know exactly how to touch her to drive her wild and she loves him and hates him in equal measures as he works.

All she wants is release. But he keeps pulling back, working her to near her peak then slowing down.

Teasing her.

He's enjoying this game.

Raising her knees, she plants her feet on the bed and scoots closer to him, pushing her cunt up to his face. "I need you,"she pleaded.

Emma Swan, begging. A whisper of disbelief floated in her mind. She knew he wouldn't let her forget this.

Yet she didn't care: she was  _so close._

_So close._

Then his mouth is back on her and his fingers are pressing harder and hell, it's never felt like this and she doesn't want it to ever, ever stop. Because the sensations are so good and foreign and different and shattering and she  _didn't know it could be like this._

Lost in her own self, she begins to unravel. Mind blank, steeped in sensation, limbs weak…Everything is reduced to simple sensation: hot/cold, hard/soft…

His tongue flutters over her as she comes. He doesn't give her any respite, drawing out her orgasm with his fingers and tongue like nothing she's ever felt before…

Where did he learn this? Actually she didn't want to know.

She just let him work: let her body sink into the bed, melt into the covers, fall apart - for a moment or two.

He's working a trail back up her body when she returns to full consciousness.

"Hi,"she whispers.

"Hello,"he replies, with a smirk. A self-satisfied smile of a man who knows he's just so fucking good at oral and is waiting for some kind of compliment. "Are we quite satisfied, love?"he asked, eyebrow raised, fingers drawing little circles on her stomach.

And, damnit, it's building again.

How?

She's never felt this… _insatiable_ before.

"No,"she quips and his eyes widen.

"No?"he echoes.

"I'll never be satisfied,"she teases, hand tugging his head to hers, pulling him into a kiss and encircling his hips with her legs.

He pulls back, nudging her nose with his, "Three orgasms not enough love?"

"Did I ever tell you, four is my favorite number?"

And she gives him a wink and kisses him again.

_**If you enjoyed this a review would be super appreciated! It makes all the effort of writing worthwhile :)** _


	5. The First Time (No. 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to write a bunch of first time drabbles... Cos I can picture it a million different ways...
> 
> PWP.
> 
> Just cos I felt like it.

She couldn't spread her legs wide enough.

She needed him closer. Closer, _dammit._

God, whatever he was doing with his hands and tongue… Hell, it was fucking fantastic. Surely it must be illegal in some states?

Emma couldn't help but groan when his teeth grazed her clit, again, and his fingers dug into the bone of her hip. He was trying to hold her down but she kept bucking up into him - wanting more and more and more…

"Ohhh," was just about all she could manage.

His hook was quickly at her right breast - cool and teasing, it worked against her nipple and she shivered in delight.

Damn him.

_Damn him._

She reached back and grabbed the bars of the cool iron headboard with each hand, anchoring her body so she could hitch her hips closer to his mouth.

"Emma, you're insatiable," he murmured against her cunt as his lips dusted over her and his tongue darted out to give quick little lick to her core until he pulled back slightly.

"Mmmm," she protested, writhing her hips, wanting him closer

With one hand, she balled her fingers into his hair and pressed his face between her legs again: almost cooing when he made contact.

She purred. A deep, guttural, almost feline sound from low within her chest that permeated through her body and had him nipping and swiping against her with lips and teeth and tongue.

"Use your fingers," she insisted, in a blurred, hazy tone.

He chuckled lightly but complied. Letting go of her hip and starting by twisting one finger in her - slowly working inside, coating him with her wetness.

"More," she demanded, rocking against his mouth as his tongue lapped and swirled around her.

Another finger entered and she gasped.

Fuck, it felt so good. So tight and hot and full…

"It's been a while," she crooned, as he massaged her - rippling the digits inside in that one spot that had her clawing against the walls and desperate for release.

"Shhhh," he hushed, laying the flat of his tongue against her clit and pressing hard until she cried out.

"Good girl," he whispered, hot breath moving over her dampness until she squirmed and twisted her legs-

"Get on with it, pirate!" she hissed.

He laughed for a second. Then he shifted. Oh, and hell she could feel him now. Hard and firm against her leg.

Sparks flooded her stomach.

_He wanted her._

His mouth was on her again. And his hands. And the goddamn weight of his body pressed her into the mattress. And he was muttering sinful things inbetween each touch. And his cock was digging into her leg which was just  _not fair_ as her mind was just filled with all sorts of filthy thoughts and ideas…

She kept trying to push harder against him.

It was torture,  _pure, goddamn torture._

He was panting when he surfaced between her legs, "Emma, love," he took a deep breath, "What do you want?"

Her mind was blank. The question was swallowed by her consciousness, her body giving an automatic response -

"You."

The mood changed. He dove back between her legs and everything started to go black.

It was far, far too much,

Hell, this was not Killian Jones working her now.

It was Captain bloody Hook.

It was all hot fingers and lips and the relentless pursuit of his prize that had her crying and gasping and cursing and falling so quickly she didn't have a second to think…

When cool reality finally descended, he was at her cheek, palming her hair, gazing down at her-

"Was that necessary?" she choked, struggling to put herself together.

"Oh love," he sighed, "That's only the beginning."

 


	6. Finally (The first time No. 2)

He was blushing. And Emma Swan couldn't believe it.

For all his swagger, bravado and silky tongue, now they were alone - finally alone - that side of him had instantly evaporated. This man in front of her was not what she had expected.

His eyelashes were fluttering, his breath heavy and shaking, his fingers so light and cautious on her skin, as if he were scared she wasn't real.

"Killian,"she whispered into his neck, brushing her lips at the line where his scruff ended -behind his ear - just the spot where she knew it would burn. In the good way.

His response was a soft moan and the tightening of his fingers against her shoulder. Their rapid breathing echoed softly around the small room at Granny's.

And what had led them here - to be together, alone,  _honest_  - after all this time?

The triumph of success and the cocoon of finally feeling  _safe._

It had all happened so fast…

But then really, it hadn't. So many obstacles were in their way - witches and curses and time travel and flying monkeys-

Until those things weren't there anymore. There was nothing more left to fear. In its place grew a rare feeling of safety and satisfaction. Then, a celebration of the victory.

And then, a chance to slip away, followed by a passionate kiss in the stairwell.

A meeting of eyes.

An unspoken agreement.

"Emma,"he whispered, his voice soft yet hoarse, "I've wanted this for so long-"

The words seemed almost  _painful._ She didn't want him to hurt any more. She wanted to protect him.

Just as he'd done for her, so many times.

"Shhh,"she whispered, clutching his face between her hands and holding it firm, tilting it down so their eyes met.

"Are you sure?"he asked, his voice soft, his fingers sliding over her shoulder and down her bare arm so that she shivered in anticipation. His touch was feather light; his fingers surprisingly gentle on her skin.

"Killian,"she said again, barely a whisper this time, her brow creasing as she saw what lay inside him come to the surface in hesitation - hurt and pain and longing-

So she kissed him. She didn't know the words to say. Didn't know how to explain that feeling in her gut that this was right: that she and he were destined to be together by some crazy magic of a fairy tale world that she still didn't completely understand.

_True love._

The part of her who had lived in the real world for 28 years balked at the term. She shrank back when those word were mentioned and hid her discomfort under a pile of quips and smart words.

But she was Princess Emma - God she was a princess for Christ's sake –herself, the product of true love. The perpetrator of two true love's kisses. How much longer could she deny what lay in front of her?

Still, she wasn't ready to say that yet. That was scary and real and… So she grabbed the collar of his jacket and pressed her lips hungrily against his. He responded in kind, slipping his tongue into her mouth - all hot and rum scented, his hand bundling into her hair and the curve of his hook pressing into the patch of skin at her waist where her shirt had risen up as she reached on her toes to his lips.

Oh, how her skin tingled and burned when she pushed her chest into his and her hips back against that implement that was so foreign, yet so exciting. She relaxed into his arms until he was almost dipping her - like some heroine in an old romantic movie.

And it was romantic. He was gentle and tender. The thick leather of his coat was soft under her skin and he smelled so good and his body was so warm…

Smiling, she paused. Nose to nose, lips an inch apart.

"I want this,"she promised, tightening her fists for a second, before releasing her grip and moving to the delicate hem of her shirt.

He swallowed heavily as he watched her hands. He was nervous. Captain Hook was nervous…

 _No,_ she told herself,  _this was Killian Jones._

She peeled away the pale blue garment, revealing her simple cotton bra underneath. And in that moment she wished she had worn something fancier. But she hadn't known this would happen tonight (though she'd secretly hoped it could). Killian didn't seem to care. His eyes roamed over her in wonder - she briefly wondered if he had seen a bra before?

Reaching out, he ran a fingertip along the edge of one cup. She felt her skin pucker instantly at his touch - her nipples hardening, protruding slightly from the thin material.

She looked up into his eyes. God they were so blue, their dark rim only highlighting their color - like the ocean almost. Emma thought she could lose herself in those eyes - drown in their depths for an age with no cares or regrets-

"Oh."

The word slipped out so quietly, but it seemed to spark something in him. Suddenly he was palming her breast, kneading the soft flesh with his fingers. His hook pressed against the small of her back, it was cold and she shivered. And he was kissing her. Kissing her like she was all that was and ever would be - his everything, his world.

It was like Neverland again. Full of raw passion, yearning and hope.

Her hands could not move fast enough to his vest - fumbling with the small buttons, pushing it back along with his jacket until they landed on the floor with a dull thud and her arms were quickly around his neck and he was stumbling back towards the tiny bed.

They landed softly, his body pressing hers into the mattress. His weight was pleasant and firm and elicited a quiet groan from her lips.

"Love…"he began.

Her arms had landed over her head, his hand and hook were cupping her face, brushing back a few strands of blonde hair.

"You're so beautiful,"he said, his eyes gazing into hers, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips, "What did I do to deserve-"

Emma cut him off by pressing up her face to his and grabbing his bottom lip between her teeth to pull him into a deeper kiss. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she tightened her hold until she could feel just how much he wanted this too.

"We can talk about this later,"she whispered into his ear as she clawed at the hem of his shirt, "We don't have long… the party..."

Understanding, he arched his back and let her pull off his shirt, tossing it to the floor.

His skin was hot against hers, its layer of chest hair both gentle and rough at once. And hell, his body felt so good. So soft, yet solid and manly…

Her lips explore his as her fingernails scored his back. She wanted to leave some kind of brand, some mark that said this is mine. He's mine.  _Mine._

With his hips bucking against hers, the heat between her thighs began to rapidly increase. A flush rose up her chest to her neck and cheeks and, hell, she'd never wanted someone more.

It was so strange, yet so familiar. It was crazy. All-consuming. Painful almost - like an itch she couldn't scratch. An urge she couldn't sate.

Tightening her legs, she pressed up on her arms and twisted until their positions had switched and she was sat on his hips, pressing down on his arousal - in just the place that made her cry out.

Then she was writhing against him. His hand and hook were at her waist again. The look on his face was one of pure, undiluted awe and love. It made her shiver - cold heat shooting down her spine and spreading out in her abdomen, as her mind began to fog.

"Oh my love-"was his panted response as she slowly unfastened her bra and let it slip down her arms, her breasts pooling in soft curves above her waist.

"You like?"she teased, a smile at her lips.

"Oh yes,"he panted, reaching up to brush a thumb against her breast until her head rolled back and she just wanted him everywhere.

"We haven't much time,"she whispered, holding back a cry, "The party…"

"I'd wanted to take my time with you-"

Her core tightened in anticipation of just what delights Killian Jones held in store for her.

Pressing down her hips, she watched him suck in a sharp breath, "Oh, we have plenty of time for that, Captain…"

"We do?"He looked surprised.

Emma placed her palms flat on his chest. The hair felt soft beneath her palms and his chest was leanly muscular and comfortable. "This isn't a one-time thing,"she promised.

"No?"

She shook her head. He smiled. A moment passed - then it was like the room had become a vacuum and all air had been sucked out of her lungs.

And it all became a whirl. Hands and lips and teeth and whispered promises. They couldn't hold back any longer. It took seconds until the final garments were hastily removed and forgotten on the floor.

All that bare skin was overwhelming. Pressing and writhing and dragging against each other-

She could barely breathe.

He moved like a man possessed. A warm hand and a cool hook made her respond in such unexpected ways - her senses were assaulted. It was difficult to keep up with his ministrations. Hot lips on her breast. Fingers teasing her core. Calling her name like a prayer.

God she wanted him. So much, so very much.

"Now,"she whispered.

And then he was above her.

The room thudded with the music from the party below. She slid her legs a little wider - silently beckoning him. He hesitated. He was shaking-

"Oh, Emma-"

Reaching down, she circled his length with her fingers - it was hard and thick, yet soft and silky and she longed to feel him.  _Finally_  feel him.

"Make love to me Killian,"she whispered.

She directed him to her entrance. His eyes met hers - were they tears she saw forming? She swallowed. His tip was teasing her, his hips pressing forward. Her lips parted into a small 'o'.

His head dropped, his lips kissed her forehead-

Then there it was. That delicious, all-encompassing feeling of him finally -  _finally_ \- inside her. A little at first. Not enough. She rocked her hips up to his, melting a little with each motion of their bodies.

Her eyes were wide, still locked with his. She felt every inch as he pressed inside her. The pressure and the stretch until the moment when he bottomed out and she bit her lip to stop from crying out.

He stilled. Blue eyes watching green eyes. Chests rising in unison. Hearts racing.

"I love you-"

The words fell from her lips before she could think.

"Gods, I love you too, Emma-"

"Then show me," she asked.

And then all restraint was gone. Hips met hips. Fingers dug in. Sweat clung to skin and that skin dampened sheets. Breathy moans filled the air. Raw, undiluted, unsated passion. So long repressed, finally uncorked, bubbling forth in a frenzy of sensation where she lost all track of who and what and why-

Because it didn't matter. All she could feel was him and his want and his need and his  _love._

And she ached and burned. She let herself forget everything, apart from him and his lips and his body…

Because in that moment, that was all that mattered.

His pace was urgent and hungry - she could barely keep up. She clung to his shoulders as a familiar tension rose, she saw it too in his face, the way his brow crinkled and his eyes widened.

"Come for me, Killian."

Those words broke him. Rapid strokes overwhelmed her, her release quick and unexpectedly strong - her thighs tightening and his name falling from her lips as he too succumbed and collapsed in an empty heap atop of her.

"Finally,"he sighed. Emma smiled, brushing back his sweat soaked hair and pressing a kiss to his damp forehead.

"Finally,"she echoed, pulling him into her embrace as she basked in the afterglow of true love consummated.

 


	7. Two Weeks

"More wine?" she asked with a grin on her face, tilting the half empty bottle neck over his almost empty glass.

Killian arched his eyebrow, "Are you trying to get me drunk, Swan?"

"I resent that accusation," she quipped, whipping away the bottle and filling her own glass before letting out a peal of laughter and doing the same for his. "Anyway, you're a pirate - can't you handle a little wine?"

"Is that a challenge?"

She licked her lips and lay back in her seat - "Even I know better that to make a bet with a pirate."

"Oh," he teased, leaning a little closer, "So is that what I am today? Just a pirate?"

His words thronged through her, reverberating against her skin and leaving her feeling pleasantly warm as the wine started to flood her veins, bringing with her playful side that she so often hid.

"You tell me. You're the one who has been off gallivanting around on a ship for the past two weeks. Have you gone back to your roots?"

Clucking his tongue, he leaned across the table and his eyes flickered low, his lids dropping in that sexy way which had her stomach tightening. "Oh, I see. You're feeling somewhat neglected - missing my attentions while I undertook such a dangerous, perilous mission."

"Please," she purred, flipping her hair over her shoulder, "I barely remembered you were gone."

He swirled the wine in his glass before taking a large sip. "Pity," he began, "I had all these plans for making up for lost time."

"Oh really?" she replied, a little too quickly.

"I thought you weren't interested?"

"Humor me."

Nudging his chair back a little, he stretched his long legs out parallel to the kitchen table. "These things are often better shown rather than discussed."

She swung one leg over the other until they were crossed, leaning nonchalantly over the table, one hand holding up her chin. "I have nowhere to be right now…"

His jaw tightened, the small muscles on either side flexing as a mischievous glint crossed his face. Hot sparks flashed through her body, as a trickle of familiar need ran down her spine and made her press her hips tighter against the hardwood chair.

Without warning, he was leaning across the table, wrapping his warm hand around the back of her neck and tugging her mouth to his. Hot lips met their eager recipients, as a river of wine ran from the table and dripped to the floor when the forgotten glasses were tipped over in a frenzy of hands and heaving chests.

Soon she was clambering onto the table, her hands slipping into this collar as her jeans became stained from the spilled wine as she swiveled her legs around until his body was between them and she pressed her thighs tight against his torso.

This new position, gave him full access to the valley of skin exposed by her shirt, of which he took full advantage. God, his lips felt good. She pushed her chest closer as he panted against her skin - the soft scruff of his hair tickling the underside of her chin until she let out a peal of laughter.

"Not quite the reaction I was hoping for," he quipped into her skin, between small biting kisses below her collar bone.

"Sorry," she replied breathily, as she shuffled forward and eased herself into his lap, until their chests were pressed tight together and his arresting blue eyes where just inches away.

He stared at her, a hint of a smirk on his face, his fingers tangling with the hem of her shirt. "You're forgiven," he insisted with a wink, eyes falling to her lips.

A few heavy breaths and she became intoxicated with those damn sex hormones he was giving off and her own traitorous body were producing. Odorless, but so potent - she knew she needed whatever her was offering.  _Right now_.

"Bed," she ordered, brows slightly raised.

She was being lifted before she could even think, "As you wish," his whispered reply.

They tumbled towards the bedroom, their path inhibited by hot kisses when he pressed her body against every wall they passed, and his groans when her hands threaded through his hair and grasped his ass though those damn leather pants of his.

Falling onto her bed, she was panting a little as he slammed the door and stalked back to her. She had lifted her knees and let them fall aside, her hips rising and fallen in a rhythm that left him under no illusion of what she wanted.

"Come here," she urged, curving her finger to beckon him.

In the last few paces, his vest was tossed to one side and his shirt pulled over his head and she couldn't help but let out an excited yelp at the sight of naked chest - lean and masculine with its layer of hair which felt so glorious pressed against her skin.

"You're overdressed," he told her, with a raised brow, quickly tugging at the fastening of her jeans as he helped her push them down and pulled them over her legs.

"So are you," she replied, fingers working at his belt when he reached back over her body - her feet pushing the leather over his thighs as their lips and tongues tangled together once more.

Instinctively her legs wrapped around his hips, drawing him tighter - his erection rubbing against her clit as he rocked into her - his fingers balling into her hair, "Gods I missed you," he gasped.

"Show me," she asked, twisting up her hips against his until he cursed under his breath. She took hold of his hand and snaked it down her body and pressed it against her damp core.

"I think you missed me too, Swan," he purred as he slid a finger inside her body and started to draw lazy circles against her clit with his thumb.

"Maybe I did," she replied through glazed and hazy eyes as the feeling of his hands on her body filled her with a singular feeling of satisfaction that she couldn't quite place, but knew she would always crave.

He brushed his lips lower, over her stomach, and she briefly released him as she pulled away her shirt and unhooked her bra before nudging him higher to her breasts. "So fucking perfect," he sighed, tugging a nipple into his mouth and circling it with his tongue - a sharp little burst of heat shooting straight to her center at the contact.

The weight and feel of him pressing her into the soft bed was so satisfying - combed with the actions of his hands and his mouth she thought she might burst with pleasure.

"Get in me, Jones," she ordered. He lifted his head - his pupils were blown wide and his hair a mussy, sexy mess as he looked at her. "Now," she insisted.

"If the lady insists."

His hands were at her hips and shifting her up the bed and before she could even think he was pressing at her entrance and she was keening into his touch, shifting her hips and urging him to enter her like her life depended on it.

This little attempt at teasing lasted only seconds before he was fully sheathed within her - hot and deep and thick, a million different sensations attacking her body as she tried to retain some sense of lucidity whilst the room span.

"More, Killian…" Rocking into her, his pace steady and somewhere between slow and teasing and hot and demanding.

"Did I tell you I missed you?" he breathed into her ear as she curved her fingers into his hair and balled her fists.

"You might have mentioned it…"

The room was fading away and all she could concentrate on was the tightening in her belly and the erotic sound of their bodies as they pressed and slapped against each other as Killian increased his pace and she rocked her hips to meet every stroke.

"I'm close-"

He moved quicker. Twisting his hips, meeting her body and exploring depths that she had forgotten existed - hitting that stop deep inside that made her bite on her lip.

"Come inside me-"

Then everything became a blur - a glorious one - where she felt like she left her body and the tension inside her snapped like a broken spring and for a few wonderful moments she knew what true bliss was.

Consciousness wavered as he lifted her leg and pressed deeper - extending her orgasm and igniting his own as their damp skin slid against one another's.

Why did these moments ever have to end…

Cool air swirled as they both returned to their bodies, fingers brushing against skin as he pressed small kisses against her hairline.

"Never leave me for that long again," she asked - exhausted in her satisfaction.

"Never," he promised, bundling her into his arms and cocooning her body with his.

 


	8. I wanna watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt: Emma confesses a certain 'fetish' to Killian that she wants to watch him masturbate.

"Are  _you_ shy?" she teased.

"No," he began, his head rolling to one side, "It's just, this is-"

"What pirate - you can't handle a little bit of kink."

Arching an eyebrow, he brought his lips close to her ear, "Oh, I certainly can love-"

"So do it," she whispered, her fingers digging into his shoulders, "For me."

She punctuated her sentence by rolling her hips into his. Catching them between his handless arm and stump, he thrust into her body - his cock rutting against her stomach as she caught his lips in a burning kiss.

"Fine," he groaned into her mouth, "You win."

"Good," she smiled, looking up at him through her thick, dark lashes.

She stepped back, pursing her lips as he walked over to the bed, undoing his new and still unfamiliar jeans and tugging off his shirt and underwear until he stood quietly, blushing a little under her eager gaze. "How do you want-"

"Lie down," she ordered, gesturing her head to bed behind him.

Cautiously he stepped backwards, lowering himself to the mattress while she stepped closer, shedding her own jeans and shirt to reveal the barest of white lace bras and matching underwear.

"Swan-" he began, hoarsely clearing his throat and reaching out a hand.

Shaking her head, she clucked her tongue. "You know what I want."

He held her gaze for a moment, then his lids sunk closed and he pushed his tongue into the side of his cheek.

She was serious.

His cock was stiff and ready as he reached down between his legs.

"Go on," she urged.

Slowly, he wrapped his fingers around his length, tightening his grasp, feeling her eyes upon him even though his own were closed.

He was throbbing with need. All he wanted was to bury himself inside her, let her hot cunt swallow him whole and feel her firm, lithe body pressed against his-

His hips began to rock into his palm, groaning lightly with each delicious stroke. It could never compare to her, but picturing Emma Swan, naked and writhing beneath him, was a poor substitute he had utilised on occasion.

Pressing harder, his hand began to move in time with the roll of his hips.

Yes. He could almost imagine her wet, tightness wrapping around him, pressing him, working his cock so expertly.

"Mmmmm…"

He opened his eyes.

Emma was sat next to the bed on her small, dressing table stool. One hand held her body steady as the other had slipped into her underwear.

"Keep going," she panted.

He obeyed, but kept his eyes on her.

She was licking her lips and pressing her hips into the stool as her hand dropped lower.

He imagined those fingers dipping into the cunt, curving around inside in just the way he knew she liked.

Fuck.

Rocking his hand faster, he spread his legs a little wider, giving his thrusts more traction.

Her mouth was open now. She removed her hand from her panties and ran her tongue leisurely along her forefinger, all the time watching him through narrowed eyes.

A painful grunt escaped his mouth.

Gods she would be the death of him.

Her hand retuned to its task, the other pulling down the soft cups of her bra to expose her breasts to him. A shot of heat rushed to his cock and he felt it tighten almost unbearably. He was rock solid beneath his fingers now, his hand moving quickly, the sound of slapping skin filling the room.

Two fingers encircled a nipple while she quickly slid off her panties, using her feet to push them down to the floor.

His eyes widened. He held himself tighter. The veins in his neck were standing out, his breathing fast and thick.

She was glistening: divine pink wetness that he craved to feel again.

Her chest was rising and falling quickly. Her breasts swaying a little as she twisted her hips and pushed a finger inside herself, swirling her thumb around her clit - his eyes locked on her cunt, imagining it's delicious warmth as he felt his release build.

It was almost painful. His need for her overwhelming him while he watched her play with herself - saw the way her eyes flickered closed and her tongue darted over her lips.

"Oh, Emma…"

"Come for me Killian," she begged as her hips sunk lower on the stool and her knees parted a little wider.

"God-" he cried.

She pushed in another finger and sucked in her bottom lip between her teeth.

She looked so debauched and wanton. He had never desired her more than that instant when his restraint crumbled, and he came in hot bursts over his stomach. A hazy fog of satisfaction gathered over him, only disturbed when he heard her cry out, jolting his head to watch the ecstasy flash over her face as he reached her own release.

He paused a second, catching his breath, before quickly stepping off the bed and pulling her limp form against him, his liquid release coating their bodies as he consumed her in a deep kiss.

"That was torture Swan…" he whispered into her hair.

"I loved it," she replied, her tongue running over his earlobe and hands exploring his back, "Seeing you pleasure yourself, make yourself come… It was hot."

"Well then it was worth it. But now I want you," he growled.

"Already?" she asked in surprise.

He looked down at her, sheepishly, a boyish blush to his cheeks, "Well, perhaps I need a little longer in that department, but there are other ways I can ravish you while we wait," he replied with a wink.

"Ravish away, pirate," she laughed as he pulled her to the bed, "Ravish away."

_**Review?** _


	9. All of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Post-coital idea (you can also write the "pre" one, I won't complain) Emma is lying on her stomach and Killian's exploring her whole back, down to her behind - basically some anal kink without him having to stick, well, HIM up her ass (though that can also happen but whatever). Just her showing him that she's all his and that she's comfortable with him, that she trusts him enough to give ALL of her to him. Only if you're comfortable with it though.

Please never stop.

_Never_ stop.

Emma was falling through her blanked out mind, her muscles cramped and her skin tingled with waves of hot and cold. Behind her, Killian's hips were driving back and forth in a slightly irregular pace that was almost excruciating.

Rolling and twisting, his erection pressed ever deeper inside till she was sure she could take no more. Each shift of his hips ignited a new sensation as he explored her body in the most intimate way.

_Don't stop._

She balled the cool fabric of the cotton sheet beneath her damp fingers, digging her knees into the mattress as she keened into his body - he was holding her hips in place.

But her arms were shaking.

She was near.

Her knees slid apart as the flickering heat in her stomach tightened and twisted.

Splayed on the bed, he sank his body onto hers, whispering filthy things in her ear as he took her to the point of no return. Giving no respite to her soft panting cries and shaking breath.

Then stars and blackness came and whisked away the world. Just him and her, his lips on her shoulder as he joined her - tightening his fingers in her hair - pausing and shuddering

At some point she realised he had came to lie beside her. Hand still in her hair, his lips brushing against her bare shoulder as a smile bloomed on her pink lips - accenting her flushed cheeks.

She shifted to face him, her body still exhausted and almost immobile: limbs and muscles aching in satisfaction.

He moved his kisses to her cheek and she giggled lightly when his scruff tickled her skin, tilting her face to press a small kiss to his lips before he continued his exploration.

Trailing fingers wandered along the small bones of her spine, drawing curves and massaging each vertebrae in turn then drawing along the indentations of her ribcage, briefly brushing against the sides of her body and her just visible breast, before continuing their journey.

She sighed.

His touch was so wonderful. He loved to cherish her; he had told her many times. Killian never seemed to tire of exploring the curves and arches of her body with the upmost dedication.

Reaching her buttocks, his hand felt especially warm against its skin, which had cooled from the exposure to the autumn temperature of the room.

He moved closer, kneading the flesh, his hip pressed against hers, his cock again hardening, her stomach already starting to tingle in anticipation.

Circling each cheek, he drew her earlobe into his mouth and tugged it gently between his teeth. He growled in protest, the fingers of her left arm curving to seek out his burgeoning erection and claiming it for her own.

She pressed her palm against him, enjoying how firm and warm and velvety soft he was becoming.

Then he was nuzzling into her neck and his fingers were sliding into the cleft between her buttocks and she bit her lip as they stroked and moved- tensing up a little at the unexpected intrusion.

"Do you trust me?" he whispered, voice full of passionate need as he slid his handless arm under her stomach.

And she did. So she nodded, raising up her ass a little in a gesture of welcome to his touch.

His warm hand was gentle, carefully massaging her opening until her muscles slackened a little and her heartbeat slowed.

"I can stop…" he began.

The pressure between her legs was rising. She began to rock her hand around him. He swore softly into her hair.

"No - go on. I'm yours Killian. All yours."

She could just make out the way his eyes widened in the darkening room before his hand reached around to cup her and draw the growing wetness of her cunt backwards.

A single finger circled. Her heart beat a little faster - she held him tighter, moved a little quicker.

He was pressing now, her body protesting.

"Relax," he soothed, kissing her forehead and tilting his hips into her hand.

So she tried. Lifting herself back to him, she brought her free hand down to touch herself, circling her clit, when just the tip of his finger eased inside - eliciting a soft gasp and a quickening of breath.

A moment to adjust. He pressed a little deeper. She heard his groan of pleasure.

It felt wrong and a little uncomfortable. But she wanted to show him that he owned all of her. Every part.

"Mine…" he muttered.

"Yours," she echoed, slipping a finger inside herself, she pushed back again and he pressed deeper, up to a knuckle, rippling his finger and moaning.

"So hot and tight…"

And she was hot. Her thumb was on her clit. Now two fingers stretching her walls, him exploring her ass. It was almost overwhelming.

"Killian," she whispered, as he rocked deeper insider her. So foreign and strange an intrusion, yet so erotic… Pleasure was blooming. Her initial discomfort was fading as a second orgasm built.

Pumping her hand faster, she curved her fingers to that spot inside that always brought stars to her eyes.

"Killian," she repeated. This time louder, higher pitched.

It was too much to bare.

"Emma," he panted, voice cracking as he came - the sound of his pleasure hastening her own, her body exploding into bright sparks quickly chased by ice cold chills.

Loosening his grasp, he tugged her close, cupping her body with his, warming her and loving her.

"My love," he whispered, lost in the blissful moment.

"And mine," she sighed,

 


	10. No Way to Treat a Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Killian discovers porn. And he doesn't like how they treats women in them. Bad form. So he shows Emma how you need to please your lady

Beside her, Killian stared at the TV, his mouth slightly agape. On the screen flickered images of the half naked couple as they kissed and pressed their bodies against each other. Killian shifted uncomfortably and Emma bit her lip to suppress a laugh.

"Y'okay?" she whispered, snuggling a little tighter into his body.

"Aye," he frowned, "But I still cannot believe this is shown so freely."

"I never took you for a prude…"

Raising a brow, he turned and looked at her before purring in reply, "Oh love, I'm far from that-"

She swallowed heavily, his voice pure, liquid sex, doing unspeakable things to her body in just a few words.

"But seeing these intimate moments is a little-" He seemed to stumbled for the right word, grabbing at one of her loose curls and tugging on it lightly, "Strange."

Emma raised her hand to cup his face, "Well, in this world things are different. If you think this is intimate, you should see porn."

"Porn?" he asked, his face twisting into an adorably confused expression.

A wicked idea flickered in her mind. She twisted her legs until she was kneeling before giving him a quick, but soft, kiss on his lips. "Wait here," she replied, pushing herself off the sofa and dashing to the bedroom.

A moment later, she was back, laptop in hand. He gave her a quizzical look as she fired up the machine and pressed the mute button on the TV. A few clicks later she had found the site she was looking for. Scrolling down the list of videos she found one that looked interesting and pressed play.

" _This_ is porn," she informed him, resting the laptop on his knees as she laid her head on his shoulder.

The quiet living room was filled with the sound of soft panting and groaning. The scene was a hotel bedroom. The brunette in the video was kneeling in front of a muscular guy, his hand was in her hair, pressing it down as she took him in her mouth. His actions were rough. She sensed Killian tensing a little beside her.

Next, the woman's scant lingerie was being removed. The male actor was squeezing her breasts roughly, the woman cried out, snarling a little as he pressed her legs back against her waist, pinning her to the bed. The camera zoomed in to give a close up view as his oversized cock forced its way into her.

"Well-" Killian began - was he blushing? - he stopped when the action on screen became more explicit.

Her legs were over the man's shoulders, she was grunting a melodic 'yes'. A second later, she was flipped over. The man began to massage her ass.

"Is he going to-"

He was pushing into her ass before Killian could complete his question.

"Oh," he muttered.

Emma could hear his breathing becoming more shallow. The two actors continued their performance, ending when the male quickly pulled out and released himself over the woman's face. She proceeded to lick his tip with her tongue.

"So?" she asked, heart thudding, feeling more than a little turned on and eager to see if he felt the same way.

He shrugged. She frowned.

"I can't deny that it was stimulating…" He pressed the lid of the computer closed and placed it on the floor. "But that is no way to treat a lady."

Laughing lightly, Emma climbed around his body, straddling his lap, her arms around his neck. "It's just meant to be sex Killian - you know,  _fucking-_ " (she whispered the last word, still a tiny bit shy in the newness of the two of them) "It's not meant to be romantic."

"And where's the pleasure in that?"

His hands went to grip her waist, pressing his hips upwards so she could feel his burgeoning hardness. Leaning forward, he ran his lips lightly over her jaw, making her shiver, until he reached her ear.

"A woman should be worshipped, adored-" One hand slipped down the back of her jeans and slid over her ass, " _Feasted_ upon _._ "

"Fuck," she whispered. His fingers were a little cold. She shuffled closer in his lap.

"You see," he continued, "A truly skilled lover, knows that his satisfaction is always secondary - and dependent upon hers."

"You don't say," she murmured. His other hand drifted to the buttons that held close her silk blouse.

"A woman in your arms is a gift and must be treated as one," he paused and gently nibbled her ear as he began to undo the buttons one by one, "She must be disrobed as such. Reverently. With care."

Emma swallowed hard, his words twisting in her gut, his fingers pushing the blue material over her shoulders. Her own arms slipped from his neck and she pressed her palms against his chest.

"You see, love, it's all about  _anticipation._ "

Her thighs clenched of their own accord. She was fucked.

Killian lay back against the sofa, one hand still kneading her ass, the other sliding over the lace of her bra, his thumb dipping inside each cup until her nipples stiffened and then slowly, ever so slowly, pulling down the straps and the material, tugging the underwear down to her waist.

"Magnificent," he purred, leaning forward and latching eagerly onto one breast, toying the nipple with tongue and teeth, tugging it into a firm peak as she started to rock her hips against his. He continued, alternating his attentions, finally bringing around his other hand to work at the buttons of her jeans.

Looking him deep in the eyes, she saw the deep seated lust hidden behind the clear blue. He watched her as though she was everything.

And then his fingers were dipping into her panties and she but back a cry.

"Make all the noise you want love. But none of that incessant whining we saw in that porn. I want to hear the  _real_ you."

He circled her clit a few times. Her panties were damp and his fingers slid easily inside her. His hands urged her to raise up on her knees and he tugged down her jeans. When his fingers slipped deeper she panted, "Oh God."

"Not quite," he chucked. He rocked his hips in time with the thrusting of his hand. Emma threw back her neck and he immediately dove forward, sucking, kissing and biting the pale skin.

For a moment, she let herself get lost. It was all about her. Her pleasure, her needs. She hadn't even touched him yet - and damn she wanted to, but this felt so, so good.

"I know you're close," he whispered, "Fuck yourself on my fingers. I want you nice and relaxed when I take you properly."

 _Holy crap,_ she thought, talking like that should be illegal (well, not  _really_ ).

She did as he said, rolling against his hand, enjoying the full feeling when he slipped in another finger, almost crying out when his thumb found her clit again, finally coming hard and fast, shuddering in his arms as the waves overtook her.

"That's it," he cooed into her hair as she sank onto his chest. As she rested a moment, he slid his fingers in her dampness. Still sensitive, she squirmed until he drew it back over her ass.

"Killian-" she panted.

"Trust me," he replied.

She was breathing heavily when his fingers reached her ass. "Now love, you have a fine arse, but let's take this slow."

Stiffening a second, she froze as he began to press a digit against her entrance. He lifted his chin to kiss her. She sank onto his mouth as his finger began to slip inside.

Tongues and hands and fingers and dampness - a million sensations at once. He was slow, gentle- He was doing this for her, not for himself…

Tentatively, she rocked back into his hand, she felt the sensation of a knuckle entering her. It felt wrong and her muscles pinched, but at the same time the fullness was a revelation.

"Like I said, you must take your time with a lady. You won't be ready for me there for some time."

Her desire was whipping up again. "But I want you now, Killian."

"And I you," he breathlessly replied, both moving to tug on the fly of his jeans, Emma finally succeeding in grasping his heavy erection. "What do you want, love?"

"This," she crooned, rising up a little, only to sink down on him, the feeling of being full and stretched intensified by his still moving finger.

Slow, heavy movements were accompanied by deep breathing and low panting. The wanting and the taking overwhelming her, his worshipful gaze resting on her body as she rocked her hips against his.

"What do you want?" he asked again, cupping her breasts as she flung back her head.

"This," she cried, pounding harder and faster against him, searching for just that spot, just that place-

He stumbled over the line just before her, his deep groan giving her the final push, her muscles tightening and flexing over him harder that she had ever experienced.

It took a few seconds for her to come to.

"That was…" She peeled herself up and looked into his hazy blue eyes, gone was the lust, replaced with a dreamy, sated expression.

"Yes, love?"

"I'm never watching porn again," she murmured before folding herself back into his chest.

"Oh love," he sighed, "What treats I have in store for you… Just you wait…"

 


	11. His Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Utter PWP!

Her lips slip over his tip, just as his fingers slide into her hair and caress her scalp.

Just that right size, the head slips inside her mouth with little resistance.

Hungrily, she swipes her tongue over the fleshy mound - hot and slightly salty. She sighs and brings one palm up to grip his shaft.

She presses her knees up against the bottom of the couch as she wriggles a little closer. His pants are halfway to his ankles; shirt spread open. Her eyes feast on the sight of him, already wrecked, eyelids flickering closed as her tongue darts along his slit.

"Gods, Emma…"

Chuckling lightly, she moves her head from side to side, sucking and releasing in turn (she can feel the blood filling his cock as his racing heart sends his pulse pounding).

He spreads his knees a little wider, gently pressing his hips towards her mouth, telling her he wants - no  _needs_  - more.

Lazily, she circles the head with her tongue, gently rocking her hand, slowly building him up before she takes a deep breath and presses down her head.

The deep exhalation he makes sends a thrill down her spine. The power is addictive - that she can make him feel this way and pull him under her spell with such ease…

She pulses her tongue against the hardness - its satiny cocoon is delicious and decadent in the heat of her mouth, slowly becoming enveloped in the the silky saliva that allows her to move with ease over him.

His hook is at her shoulder. His fingers are tightening - not in a painful way, but enough to catch her breath and make her heart race.

Widening the base of her throat, she buries her face in his lap, his black curls nudging against her nose as she swallows and he cries out-

"Emma!"

Easing off, her hands and mouth work into a rhythm, somewhere in between fast and slow as he starts to make little wrecked noises and she works her free palm onto the lean muscles of his stomach. She feels them clenching as he rocks his hips into her.

The noises become an indecipherable muttering and she groans in response.

And he feels so good in her mouth. She loves sucking his cock. It's so solid and straining for her; she relishes each flick of her tongue against the precious flesh and each press of the length against the inside of her cheek.

She loves it.

He's close: the throbbing of his head is the sign, she swirls her tongue harder around it, before taking him deep again, rocking him further into her throat as she holds her breath and presses her fingers into his hip.

With a strained cry, he is coming. She pulls back a little, lets him pour himself down her throat, while her fingers ghost over his balls as they contract and release, lingering until he shudders at the sudden sensitivity.

Rolling back on her heels, she licks her lips and swallows. He smiles, a lazy, utterly satisfied smile.


	12. Beside Me

The first time was quick; heady, needy,  _hot_.

Burning desire igniting in panted breaths and clawing fingers, interspaced by cries of the other's name as they clung to one another, both afraid that if they let go then it might not be real.

And like that they'd lain together. Fingers entangled, wrapped up in tangled sheets, whispering and smiling, kissing and touching. Sleep was forgotten: that was for those who needed the escape from consciousness. But all they needed was each other.

Gradually, though, as dawn broke, they'd fallen quiet. She lay with her head on his chest and he brushed his fingers through her love-tangled hair as they breathed in unison, just happy in the intimacy of skin touching skin and souls bared.

It was the sounds of the town waking that broke the silence. She yawned, stretching her body against his, brushing her lips upon his jaw until their mouths met in a kiss. A sweet, light kiss of greeting that soon turned hotter and darker, until he was pressing her back into the mattress as she fell the well of heat grow inside her.

Running her hands around his back, she hooked her feet around his thighs, bringing him close, feeling his hardness slide against her until she was biting his lip and the fingers of his hand were raking over her body - her hips, her breasts…

Wordlessly he sank into her, watching her as he pushed as far as she could until her mouth fell open and her eyelids fluttered closed.

" _Yes_."

Slowly he took her, consuming her body with pleasure as she let him make love to her, encouraging him with her rocking hips and gentle moans.

She dug in her fingernails. "Killian," she whispered.

He trembled, circling his hips as he moved above her, alternating kisses with loving looks.

"My love," he replied.

And so they made love this way, lazily, adoringly, until the bud of need in both could wait no longer.

The slow peal of her dawning peak flooded her body with heat and light until breathlessly he collapsed, nestled beside her; forehead damp, cheeks pink, lips kiss swollen.

She felt the loss of him, felt the need for him again. And she knew it would always be there.

But as she watched him finally fall asleep, she knew he would always be too.


	13. Dirty Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PROMPT: I love fics where Hook talks dirty, explicitly dirty, to Emma. Could you do a "dirty talk" smutty drabble?
> 
> B

Bodies pressed together, his tongue slid along line of her jaw. A tingle shot up her spine. His breath was warm and soft across her neck. She could feel his heart pounding through the soft cotton of his shirt. His leather pants creased as he slid closer to her, his hips pivoting up into hers as his hand crept under the hem of her skirt and began to tug at her tights.

"We can't…" she muttered with little conviction.

Yes, they were in the storeroom at Grannies.

But there was a party in full swing, the kitchen was closed and Killian had half heartedly kicked a box up against the door when they had tumbled inside.

"Can't?" he teased, his mouth so close to her ear, she felt her body tremble when the moist ghost of his breath met her skin.

She didn't reply. Instead, merely sank back against the metal shelves she behind her as he peeled away her tights and slipped off her heels. When his mouth met hers again in a hungry kiss she was almost breathless, such was the effect this pirate had on her.

"Don't you know how much I want you Emma? Christ, I've been rock hard for you since I stepped in this place." As if to prove his point he pressed his hardened cock against her thigh. She groaned, licking her lips in anticipation, a familiar longing growing in her belly. "You knew what you were doing. The way you kept looking at me, pursing your lips. And you wore this bloody dress that makes your tits look so good I just want to devour them."

She gasped as he buried his head into her cleavage, biting and nipping the skin, as his hand tugged them free of her dress, rolling her nipples into hardness before latching on with his mouth and sucking hard - making her cry out in that awkward space between pleasure and pain. "God they are fucking glorious."

Puffing out her chest, her fingers began to card into his hair. The feel of his scruff against the tender skin of her breasts made her heart race and dampness between her legs began to reach an unbearable height. She began to rock into him, desperately trying to raise a little friction where she desperately need it.

"Oh, you want me don't you Swan? I can feel it. You wanton little slut. Do you want me to touch you? To run my fingers down your slit and slide them in your pussy?"

A wave of heat and shame and desire all in one rolled over her. She should hate him for talking like this. She should hate it. But God, she loved it. Damn it turned her on. And damn didn't he know it.

"Yes," she managed to yelp softly into his ear and without warning his slightly chilled hand reached her damp heat. She flinched at first, the coldness unexpected - assaulting her senses as he began to circle her clit.

"Christ you're wet. So fucking wet. I want to stick my tongue in your cunt and taste your wetness. I want to smother you over my lips so you can taste yourself. Would you like that Emma?"

She couldn't reply. The motion of his fingers had been a catalyst. A burning, churning, drunken feel overcoming her as she tightened her fingers in his hair.

He swept down, burying himself between her legs - running a firm yet tender tongue along her slit, leisure lapping between her folds.

"You taste so fucking good Emma. It's like sweetness and cream and sex all wrapped in one." He quickly pressed a kiss against her, before rising up to her face again. "Taste yourself," he commanded and she lunged into him, plunging her own tongue into his mouth, tasting herself mingled with him feeling so turned on she may burst…

When his fingers began to slip inside she knew she didn't have long left. He pulled away from their kiss and began to nuzzle into her face, running his nose up against hers in a slow, calculated move.

"So tight. God - do you know how tight you are?" She shook her head. "Your cunt feels like heaven. I just want to slip my cock in and have you milk it for all it's worth."

A sense memory began to pervade her thoughts - their last encounter, on the Jolly, his hot thick length sliding slowly inside her, making her cry out as he filled her so fantastically she wanted scream.

"Come on princess," he ordered, quickening the pace of his fingers, running his thumb over her clot in short, rapid flicks, "Give up. Let it out. I might even fuck you later if you're good-"

And those last words did it. Black and starts and bells and heat and rippling muscles invaded her senses all at once until she sank forward into him, resting her heat on his firm chest.

"Fuck you Killian," she managed to say, a half smile on her lips.

"I told you," he replied, "Later - if you're good."

 


	14. Not your common princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From this prompt on Tumblr:
> 
> Anonymous asked you:
> 
> What about smutty prompt "I can assure you, I am not like all the princess's you've bedded before, Killian."

"I can assure you, I am not like all the princess's you've bedded before, Killian."

"Is that so?"he smirked from behind his cup of rum.

He looked over at the bed, where she lay reclined, the voluminous folds of her dress reaching down to the floor as her chest heaved against its tightly laced bodice.

"And what would you know of that?"he purred, licking his lips slowly, making sure she was watching his every move.

Pushing up on her forearms, as far as the heavy shackles around her wrists would allow, she narrowed her eyes and looked him up and down. "Your reputation precedes you, Captain Jones. I have heard of your dalliances in King Arthur's realms and there was a story of you and a Sultan's daughter that has been going around. Took her virginity and left her sobbing into her father's robes, I heard. Bad form, sir."

She arched her neck back, to be sure he had a good view of her delicate, pale skin as it curved down into the swell of her breasts.

"Well I wouldn't believe everything you hear,"he quipped, "It was actually a Sultan's  _twin_ daughters. Both at once."He quickly raised his eyebrows and gave her a devious look that made her feel both hot and trapped all at once. "But, yes, I've had my taste of royal blood. It's overrated."

Emma swallowed deeply and pulled her knees a little closer to her stomach.

This was dangerous.  _He_  was dangerous. She knew she had to play her cards carefully, bide her time until her rescue.

"Ah, but like I said,  _sir,_ I'm not like all the other princesses."

She twisted her neck so her hair pooled over her shoulder and she gave him a pointed look. One that said, 'I'm valuable'.

"Hmm,"he mused, refilling his cup from a large, crystal decanter on the table and rising up to saunter over to where she lay.

He held the rum in his hand as he looked down at her. The expression his face held was cool and closed. His eyes did not betray what he was thinking. She strained to garner some indication of his intentions but she saw nothing.

"You should know, love, that your reputation also precedes you. I know you have turned down a proposal from crown princes in at least half of all the realms. I know that your parents are getting worried that their only child and heir will never marry. And that is why you are on a ship, a month's journey from your home, isn't it, lass?"

Indignantly, she stuck her chin in the air and turned her face away from him. She hadn't counted on his knowledge of  _her_. Blue eyes ran over her body and left a cold trail in their wake. She pressed her hips further into the bed.

"Aye, you've been shipped off to find a husband. How long did they give you? Six months? A year?"He was almost sneering over her. She could smell the rum on his breath and it made her stomach turn.

"What is it to you, pirate? You have me here in your quarters. I know what you do with your  _conquests._ Just do what you want and leave me be. My ransom will be here soon enough."

"Tut, tut, love? What kind of man do you take me for?"

Jaw firm set, she snapped back her head and stared at him, body tense.

"Ah,"he nodded, "I see. Well, fear not love, I've never taken a woman who didn't  _want_  to be taken."

Emma didn't flinch.

"You don't believe me, do you? Hmmm."A smile curved his lips as he tilted his head and started to use his hook to draw the hem of her skirt over her ankles and towards her knees. Her breath started at the touch of the cool metal on her warm skin. A blush rose over her chest and her lips parted slightly.

The hook had just touched the sensitive skin of her inner thigh - its point leaving a pinkish scratch - when he pulled back. His hooded eyes sparkled with amusement.

Leaning down, he paused a few inches from her face. "Fear not, love, you are safe from my passions for now. I had me quite the time with a trio of whores last night."

And he winked. She felt sick. He was so close she could almost smell the sex on him. Musky and thick, it clung around him like a cloak. With his rakish hair and thick layer of stubble on his reddened cheeks, he looked positively sinful.

"Urgh,"she groaned, flopping back onto the bed.

He laughed as he walked away, his steps leisurely and heavy. When she heard the key turn in the lock she let out a relieved sigh.

She'd survived the first night.

* * *

Her analysis of his character had not entirely been truthful.

She had heard of his trysts, yes, but more so she had heard of his prowess.

Emma had taken to slipping out of the castle as often as possible. The incessant worrying of her mother and lectures from her father became too much fairly often.

_You're getting older, Emma._

_You must marry._

_We need an heir._

God she hated the expectations that were placed on her from a cruel consequence of birth.

She wanted to roam, explore, travel.

Indeed this was why she had so eagerly agreed to a royal tour, ostensibly to improve relations with the other kingdoms, but with the explicit understanding that she would return with her chosen husband.

On these excursions from the castle she had taken to spending time in the seedier taverns in town. Where she could hide under a cloak, drink ale and play dice with the less reputable characters that passed through the realm.

It was here she first heard of him. The fearsome Captain Killian 'Hook'Jones.

The peasant girls liked to gossip.

They talked of how handsome he was. Those  _come fuck me_  eyes and his smile that made your underwear wet in an instant.

A few would whisper about the times he had frequented their rooms. They said he was so big you felt him inside you for days afterwards (quite something coming from a prostitute, Emma had mused over her ale). And not only was he big, they said but he knew exactly how to use his size. Could make you come in few thrusts.

She'd listened intently as one girl described how he'd pushed her over the bar one night, when only a few men were left, and fucked her so hard she'd cried the place down. All the while drinking his rum. Then he'd tossed her a side with a couple of coins and left her breathless as he left the tavern.

 _Animal,_ she had thought at the time.

What man treats a woman so?

Yet, deep inside, she felt a yearning. To know what it felt like to be used that way. To be taken by a man who knew how.

Not a tryst in a barn with a shepherd or a hurried moment with one of the soldiers who accompanied her on her travels (when she couldn't slip away).

A real man.

* * *

The small bed in his chambers was soft. The shackles had been removed from her hands and she devoured the meal of meat stew that had been left beside her. She was hungry and cold. The food warmed her stomach and settled her mind.

She knew why she was here.

It was late when he came to the cabin. The sky outside was black and lit with a blanket of stars. She shivered as he approached.

He slipped off his coat. She heard it sink to the floor with a soft thud.

Slowly, she turned to look at him.

He was half in shadow. Dressed all in black he was barely visible as he moved towards her.

'Captain."

"Princess."

As he got closer, his outline became clearer. The strong line of his shoulders. The lean, muscular shape of his legs. All encased in leather and linen. He was like a predator, crawling towards her, eyeing up his prey.

"Hmmm," he muttered, fingering the slightly soiled material of her dress: stained from a week of being worn. "Stand up."

Heart racing, she slipped to her feet and turned around.

Roughly he began to tug at the stays of her corset. Each one he loosened allowed her to breathe more easily and the blood began to flow quickly to her chest and legs and she felt relief flood over her.

He untied her skirt and then finally pulled the dress down over her arms and it dropped to the floor, until she was stood in just the simple, linen chemise that slipped off her shoulders and hung down to her knees.

"That's better," he whispered, drawing a finger over her shoulders.

Stiffening, she drew her arms around her chest and slowly turned to face him.

"Why am I here?" she asked, trying to sound confident.

"Why do you think?" he replied with amusement.

"You said you never took a woman who didn't want to be taken."

"I don't," he murmured, sinking his lips to the base of her neck, softly kissing her collar bone and along her shoulder. Slowly. Gently.

Frozen, she locked her knees.

His lips were teasing. Shooting bright little sparks throughout her body and clouding her mind. The fingers of his good hand began to slip under the shoulder of her chemise, easing it lower so he could move his kiss down her upper arm and tugging the material over her breasts with his hook.

"You are sumptuous, love," he whispered as his scruff began to tickle her chest.

She tried to ignore the rising feelings. She wanted to show him she was not affected by his lips, or his hands or his words.

"How long has it been since you've had a man?" he asked, his mouth now on her neck and his hand starting to softly cup her breasts, his thumb running over each nipple as it hardened involuntarily.

She tried to stifle a whimper.

"Weeks? Months?"

His tongue traced a trail along her jaw until he was face to face with her. Hovering over her mouth, his hot breath consuming the air around her.

"Have you ever had a  _real_ man, Princess?"

He dipped his hips closer to her and she could feel the bulge of his arousal.

Not answering, she focused on the shelf of books above his desk. Then tried to read the titles. Tried to take her mind off what he was doing with his hands and his mouth.

_Robinson Crusoe. Trewitt's Star Maps. Fishers Almanac-_

Somehow he was on his knees, raising the hem of her chemise, pushing her back towards the bed. She was trembling. Not from fear. But from anticipation.

He balled up the material in his hand as her hips met the edge of the bed. Instinctively, her hands went back to support herself as he used his hook to motion her legs wider apart.

Her breath shook and she looked down at him. He glanced upwards and began to run his hook between her folds, lazily almost, not even looking at what he was doing. But she could feel her wetness coating the cool metal as he watched her face. It was almost as if he was studying her, looking for a reaction. Keeping his gaze, she held herself in check. Refusing to give him one.

A smile spread as he brought the implement to his mouth and slowly licked it clean, letting out a slow guttural growl as he did. "You taste positively sinful."

Her eyelids dropped and she felt her heart begin to thud under the thin material.

Still, neither looked away.

He rose his brows. He seemed amused by her resistance.

With a soft push, she fell back onto the bed, her hips hanging over as she stared at the ceiling.

_Scream Emma. Tell him to stop. Cry bloody hell and he'll leave you…_

The rational voice in her head was shouting instructions at her as she waited for his next move.

But curiosity burned inside. Those stories from the wenches in the tavern rang in her head and she felt her core tighten as she imagined being taken by him like one of those women. Just for one night.

He was back. A flask in his hand. He took a sip and sank from her view.

Then his lips were on her, warm and soft, followed by the wash of coolness as the liquor is his mouth brushed over her and he began to suck gently on her sensitive nub, her legs flinched around his face as he lapped and swirled his tongue and the tension in her stomach began to rise.

Pausing, he took another drink, before diving back between her legs. She heard the flask fall to the floor and suddenly her body was invaded cool fingers sinking easily inside, twisting and scissoring as his tongue pressed harder against her.

She heard him grunt. His hooked arm came up to her waist and pressed on her hips.

"Fuck you are divine, Emma."

He had pulled back and his words breathed cool little breaths on her wetness and she felt her hips rock on the edge of the bed. Her legs slipped over his shoulders and before she knew it she was pulling him back to her.

She wanted it. Needed it.

"Mmmm,"she moaned, running her hands over her own body, massaging her breasts as she gave in and let him do what he wished.

It was better than with any lover she had ever had. He was so confident and self-assured. He knew he was good. Better than good. And he had only touched her with his tongue and his hand.

"Do you want me?"he asked, as he wiped his damp lips on her thigh and kept working inside her with his fingers - arching and curving them expertly.

Her pride told her to say no.

Instead she set her mouth in a firm line and stared ahead.

He chuckled. Returning his mouth to her and flicking and sucking her clit with his tongue until she was clawing at the sheets and biting her lips, trying not to cry out-

"How about now?"he asked, abruptly lifting his head.

"Screw you,"she spat. Though she didn't know if it was through anger or frustration. Perhaps a little of both.

"Fine,"he quipped, giving her core one last firm lick before stepping away and slipping out his fingers.

"But, but…"she stuttered, the loss instant.

"A man knows when he is not wanted love,"he sneered, reaching for his coat.

She stopped. She was going to regret this, she knew it…

"Stop."

Slowly he turned, wicked smile on his lips.

"Yes?"

"You can't leave me like this."

"Can't I?"

Chest heaving, she quietly peeled off her chemise, letting his eyes roam over her nakedness. Then she threaded her fingers through her hair, so her breasts rose gently and she puffed out her chest.

Stepping backwards, she moved to sit back on the bed, spreading her legs slightly, one hand fingering her breasts whilst the other dipped into her core.

"Well, if you aren't going to help me…"she began.

And that was all it took. He was tearing off his vest and shirt, kicking away his boots and tugging down his trousers, naked in the seconds it took to reach the bed once more.

She laughed as he latched onto her mouth and squeezed her ass. His tongue delved deep as he pushed away her fingers and began to fuck her once more with his fingers as she panted into his mouth, quickly becoming overwhelmed with sensation and crooning as she came hard around him.

"Oh god,"she muttered as he lay her back and lined up his length. She tensed her body, waiting.

He seemed to have second thoughts and instead grabbed her arm, tugging her to stand and pressing her against the wooden wall of the cabin beside the bed. Hitching her legs around his waist, he held her up with his arms as he teased her with his tip.

"Do you want me now princess?"he teased, bucking forwards slightly, sliding over her.

"Oh, just fuck me already you bastard."

It was like a red rag to a bull. He pressed inside her in one swift move. She whimpered at the intrusion. It had been a long time and he was, as the tavern girls had said, large and thick…

The urge to rock against him was overwhelming as he settled and she adjusted to his size. The stinging sensation giving way to a pleasant buzz as he started to roll his hips and take her against the wall.

Quick, frantic thrusts, each one met with a muttered curse as his good hand grabbed her neck and held her gaze with his.

"You like this, don't you princess. I'm your first real man, aren't I? The first who's known how to fuck you properly, like you deserve,"he thrust deeper and she cried out. She didn't think she could take much more, for all her earlier bravado. "Gods you're tight. Like a virgin cunt, love. The way you take my cock and swallow it up…You've needed this love. Christ you're shameless. Some bloody princess-"

His words continued, each one sinking her further into oblivion. Each filthy word sparking her basest desires to be dominated and used and wanted.

She watched his pupils widen and his breathing quicken - the sweat on his brow growing with ever second as he started to lose on control.

Hot, sweat, liquid heat, pooling desire, curling tension, teasing friction-

So many feelings ran through her that her climax almost took her by surprise, ambushing her as she sank her mouth to his shoulder and bit hard, electricity flashing as he went rigid - calling out her name before slowly sinking to his knees.

She ran her fingers thought his sweaty, damp hair and trailed them up the bones of his back as they sat collapsed together on the floor.

"I told you you'd want me,"he finally whispered, nipping at her neck.

She tightened her legs around him and brought her lips to his ear, "I never said I didn't."

 


	15. When he's near

The moment she walks into the room, she feels his presence.

It's like an invisible wall of thick tension, immediately binding to her body and sinking through every pore of her skin. She drinks it in: letting her head softy roll from side to side as shivers permeate her flesh, her eyes sinking closed and her mind drowning in the feeling - just for a moment.

She feels warm - not that she was cold to begin with. This warmth is different from regular heat. It's a cloak that wraps around her almost instantly, enveloping her in deliciously suffocating, all encompassing, desperate need. Instantly it is comforting and yet inciting. She wants more. Delicate shivers trickle down her spine, like water down a pane of glass: rolling and twisting as they travel in meandering paths and spread out across her skin.

Deep inside, she feels the sparking of desire seeping and spreading out, as silent as the black of night, engulfing her in seconds.

Despite all the other people scattered around the room she can't hide how she is instantly drawn to him. Her body begins to throb. Every breath she takes, every time her heart pounds against her chest–her skin burns harder, the red rises in her cheeks and she begins to sway gently to the rhythm it creates.

The smile is automatic. She can't stop it. It dances at the corners of her lips and a breath catches in her throat as he stops and looks at her.

Bright blue eyes: so beautiful, so clear. They pierce her heart swiftly and the beat is interrupted for a second until he matches her smile and closes the distance between them. His stride is firm and confident, his hand already reaching for her cheek as they meet.

"Swan," he whispers to her. The smile deepens, dimpling her cheeks while his thumb brushes across her skin and the sparks of desire begin to intensify, trailing the path of his fingers as she breathes deeper.

Heavy, drowning gasps of air are needed. He radiates heat and sea and something she can't quite name that gets under her skin. The hormones and chemicals dancing in her veins seem to multiply ten fold when he is near. They are taking over. Her senses are being assaulted. Everything is intensified yet, at the same time, everything is hazy.

She slips a hand onto his chest and reaches up to kiss him. Just a chaste kiss, with such an audience, but she presses her lips hard against him and fists his shirt between her fingers as she does so. She needs him to know. He has to know how he affects her.

She wonders if he feels the same…

His arms slide around her back and she arches into his touch. Craving him has turned into a natural state for her. Be they apart or together, he is always living in the back of her mind.

But when he's near…

With a firm arm, he pulls her to his side. His strong grip and firm chest push against her so satisfyingly, she can't help but let out a small sigh. It doesn't escape his notice and he digs his fingers into her waist and his index fingers rubs the thin material of her shirt and she just wishes they were alone.

Walking through the crowd is torture. So many strained smiles and polite conversations. Inside she wants to scream. He keeps holding her close. Every so often, he nuzzles into her ear and whispers sweet words.

_So beautiful._

_How I've missed you._

_Do you know how I've missed you?_

Somehow she manages to answer every question the people ask her and remain polite. Her mind is vacant though and she answers in brief, perfunctory responses.

The feelings inside her are beginning to take over.

He's too damn close. And warm. And  _him_.

When they have a second alone, she leans into his embrace and he wraps his hooked arm around her and they look over the room.

"Let's escape for while," he mutters in her ear, his tongue flicks over her neck for a second and a throb of heat overwhelms her.

She should say no.

She  _knows_ she should say no.

But instead she lets him pull her away with him.

* * *

The sound of the party dims.

The blood rushes to her ears and crashes like waves against the shore of her sanity as he gently holds her hand and moves through the darkened hallway in silence.

Until he finds a small door and they slip inside.

His mouth is on hers instantly, quickly moving across her bared skin. It almost hurts when his lips touch. The rolling tension inside her rises to the surface with every kiss and it burns.

He's not close enough.

Her hands claw at his shirt and neck; her leg rises to his hip and hooks around him. He's kissing her mouth now. Wildly. And she kisses back with the desperation a few days separation and reflection provide.

"I'm sorry," she moans into the blackness.

He's now kissing down her neck and his hand is pushing up her skirt.

"Shhhhh," he whispers.

She combs her fingers through his hair. Languidly, her head slips back and the heat starts to become suffocating. Is it the small space, or is it him?

She doesn't care, because it feels  _good_.

"But I am," she promises. The guilt of leaving things unsettled rises in her stomach and sets like a hard stone, tensing her muscles.

When he looks at her, he is licking his lips then rolling the bottom one between his teeth. His gaze is intense but his eyes are hazed with lust.

"I said, shhhh," he whispered. Then he is falling to his knees and her underwear is slipping down her legs, aided by a glinting, silver hook.

Between her fingers, his hair is thick and soft. She loves how it feels against her skin. She loves it when he lies on her stomach and it tickles her softly. She loves the way it sticks up in such a sexy way when she has run her fingers through it.

Hot breath between her legs blanks any thoughts other than how much she wants him. His beard is rubbing against her thighs as he teases her.

Waves of burning heat are intensifying and she feels almost drunk from him.

"Hm," she whimpers at the feel of his tongue.

She presses her fingers harder. He understands.

The assault of his mouth and his hand has her head spinning: the room pivots around her and she sinks her hips against the wall for leverage as her fingers loosen slightly. When he pushes fingers inside her she is panting: little short breaths mixed with 'oohs' and 'uhs'. Every one drives him a little harder. He pushes and presses and teases her so perfectly: through the blackness she is seeing stars.

Knees weakening, she gives in. Her responses louden but she doesn't care. She wants him to know what he does to her and be damned with anyone else.

The crashing waves hit and she is lost for a moment. Swimming in the air - no gravity - bright lights flickering…

When she comes to, she is wrapped in his arms again.

She feels safe.

And loved.

"I love you. I'm sorry," she murmurs into his ear.

Leaning in for a kiss; she can taste herself and it's strangely arousing. "Stop apologising my love," he replies.

So she does.

Because she cannot deny him anything. He is all she wants and needs.

_Especially when he's near._

**Review? :D**


	16. Irresistable

She was seething.

No, she was  _writhing_  with anger.

Stupid dumbass pirate.

Fist balled in his shirt, she flung him against the wall of the storage room and damn him he laughed.

"What the fuck was that?" she spat, resting her other arm to the side of his shoulder as her fingers tightened against his chest.

Then he licked his lips. Slowly. Flicking up his eyes to meet hers.

Fuck it was doing things to her. She clenched her muscles, imagining his tongue somewhere else-

"He was trying to touch you."

"Goddamn it Killian, you fucking punched him. In the middle of The Rabbit Hole!"

With a tilt of his head, his brow furrowed, "Aye and he would have got a lot worse if it wasn't for that damn dwarf."

His voice was full and thick, laced with his silky accent that had her stomach doing somersaults.

"You realise I have to arrest you now?"

Then he gave her that cocky grin of his, lifting up his wrists between them. "Go on, it was worth it. I know you have a thing for tying me up."

A brief image of the pirate tied to her bed with silk scarves flashed through her mind. It had been a week ago but the memory was still fresh and heat rose between her thighs.

"I can tell you are thinking about it," he teased, leaning a little closer. And hell he smelled so fucking good.

"You can't keep doing that," she snapped her eyes fluttering closed, her hand on the wall slipping closer to his shoulder. "I'm not some damsel in distress."

His fingers were slipping along the dipped neckline of her sweater, "It is my duty to protect  _my ladies_  honour."

"Huh," she scoffed. Emma hated herself in that moment. For all his swagger and wit he could be so damn charming when he wanted to. And ridiculously hot and sexy of course. "I am not  _your lady,_ " she growled, leaning a little closer. Her green eyes dimmed with annoyance. That is until he looked her dead on. Oh those baby blues framed with dark lashes. They got her. Every. Single. Goddamn. Time.

"Come here love-"

She whimpered a little in wear protest as he reached her her lips. He rubbed his mouth against hers, nipping at her lip, trying to tease it open.

"I need to take you to the station…"

But his hand was already pushing down her jeans and her underwear. And she was kicking off her shoes. His cool hook felt delicious against the bare skin of her ass; she jumped a little, pressing her chest closer to his.

He was  _smiling_ , damn him.

Somehow his fingers were tracing her thighs and her hands were reaching under his shirt and his skin was hot and the hair on his chest felt  _so fucking good_ -

She tumbled back towards the old, rickety desk on the other side of the room - almost tripping over cases of beer and racks of wine.

Kissing him was addictive, and as pissed as she was she needed a fix now. Emma really wished she knew how to play a little hard to get with this man. The way her alternated between hard and soft and quick and slow and little teasing bites mixed with silky explorations with his tongue was just - urgh!

With a small hop, she was sitting on the edge of the desk, swinging her legs, half naked and feeling a little delirious.

"Mmm, just the way I like you," he mumbled as she lay back, pulling him on top of her.

"Shut up," she snapped. Reminding herself she was still pissed at him.

Clamped between her thighs, his hips bucked against her and she squirmed as he hit her just where she needed it.

Next his hand was up her sweater and under her bra. Calloused, roughened fingers danced over her soft nipples whilst she sunk her teeth into his neck. He was heavy and the desk was hard beneath her ass. But she liked the burn and the pain. It felt raw and real somehow.

With her heels she managed to push down his pants below his ass, until his cock was free. Hot and hard and rolling against he stomach, she smiled in spite of herself.

Tilting her hips, she moistened his tip with her own arousal, sighing as he slipped inside and began to rock into her. No matter how many times they fucked (or had sex or made love - depending on the occasion) it always felt so fucking good she wanted to scream and tell the whole damn world.

"Harder," she whispered.

"As you wish," he replied. Quicker he moved, pushing her into the desk, its edge digging harshly into her ass.

There was something about their state of being semi dressed, the dark room, the hard desk and the way his leather pants rubbed against her thighs that had her orgasm sparking within minutes.

She rocked her hips, arching until he was so deep she was cursing his name, biting her lips, scratching his neck-

"Oh Emma, christ you feel good."

"Fuck," was all she could manage as his cock drove into her and she almost began to forget how they had gotten into this situation.

"You're so fucking wet," he drawled into her ear.

(When he talked to her during sex she certainly couldn't handle it. And he knew it, damn him).

Her hips were bucking wildly and he was struggling to keep hold of her body. Finally, he pulled her upright so she has less room to move. Bending his knees a little, he pressed up into her hard and fast and desperate, at the same time as kissing her roughly.

She came with a loud groan, followed with his own growl of satisfaction which ended with his the two falling back onto the desk.

"Mmmm," she mumbled.

"Mmm indeed," he echoed.

§§§§

Finally dressed, she smoothed her hair and winced at her bruised ass. Killian was lying nonchalantly against the door. That damn smirk still on his face.

Striding over, she gave him a quick smile before slipping on the cold, heavy handcuffs she kept hooked to her jeans.

"What the hell?" he cried, an indignant look on his face.

"I told you I was going to arrest you."

"I thought you were bloody joking love -"

"I never joke," the smiled, tugging on the chain as she pulled him from the room.

Outside she stopped and turned, "But if you are a good boy, I might let you use them on me later."

The dirty, naughtily little smile that lit up his face made her want to laugh.

"Aye Sheriff," he groaned and let her lead the way.

 


	17. What's Mine is Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Emma wearing /just/ Hook's coat.

Tired, he kicked of his boots as soon as he walked in the door.

It'd been a long day. The ocean had whipped up into a squall when he'd taken the Jolly out that afternoon and the effort of bringing her safely back to shore had left his muscles aching and burning.

Slowly, he climbed the stairs.

"Emma?" he called. Perhaps she was still working. That woman worked far too bloody much.

All he wanted was a shower and to collapse in bed. Peeling off the sweat soaked button down and t-shirt that had became his Storybrooke outfit of choice, he marched towards the bathroom.

Just as he was about to slip inside and enjoy that most marvellous invention of this realm, he paused. The bedroom door was half open. From inside there came a dim light.

"Emma?"

There was no answer. He took a small step into the room, his eyes adjusting to the darkness and turning to the bed.

"Hi."

His voice caught in his throat. There, reclined on their bed (theirs - he still wasn't used to that), was a most glorious vision. Emma Swan, draped in his coat - wrapped in black leather, teasingly draping open just enough to betray the fact that she was most certainly naked underneath.

Mouth open, he was speechless. She arched her brow in amusement, pushing up onto her forearms. The coat slipped further from her shoulders, revealing a deep valley between her breasts that dipped to just below her navel. HIs eyes followed the trail of creamy skin and he licked his lips. He could feel himself getting hard already, the earlier ache in his limbs forgotten.

"Well Swan, this is a surprise," he finally managed to say, ambling forward as he did until he was at her feet.

"I hope you don't mind," she purred, leaning a little closer to him, "I was feeling a little… cold."

He smiled - a mixture of amusement at her game and complete arousal. "As if I could deny you anything," he whispered, hungrily pulling her face towards him into a crushing kiss and using his hooked hand to drag her further down the bed, until her legs wrapped around his and he lowered himself onto her.

"Such a minx," he muttered as his teeth raked across the exposed skin of her breast - he pushed the leather aside with his hook, taking each delicious curve into his mouth, teasing her nipples with his tongue, whilst his hand wrapped around her waist and pulled it closer to his.

"You love it," she whispered into his ear, her teeth tugging on his earlobe as her fingers worked the fly on his jeans until they were pushed down around his ankles and he kicked them away.

By the time her hand wrapped around his length, he was fit to burst. God the effect she had on him was supernatural. Never had a woman made him so crazed with need and desire. As her fingers tightened he groaned in pleasure, pulses of light spreading from his centre as his mouth began to tighten and suck lightly against the delicate skin of her neck.

"No marks," she panted, lightly pushing him upright and giving him a devilishly wicked wink."Work tomorrow."

He pursed his lips and gave her his best puppy dog look. He loved how they could switch moods so quickly. From hot and wanton to light and playful in an instant.

And this instant was broken by the sound of creaking leather as she leaned closer, looking him in the eye as she licked her lips, her blonde hair falling like a golden curtain around her shoulders and the leather coat barely covering her at all now. His hips jerked forward as she kept his gaze and sank her lips over his cock.

"Fuck," he moaned as her warm, damp mouth slowly devoured him - her tongue swirling around his tip as she took him deeper into his throat - opening it up as she moved until he was utterly consumed by her. He couldn't stop his hand from sinking into her hair and urging her to settle into a rhythm that was just the right side of painfully delicious.

Heat flushed his skin. He looked down at this goddess who was currently servicing him wrapped in his own damn pirate leathers and he couldn't believe his good fortune… She pressed her mouth tighter around him and his knees began to shake.

"Emma - love-"

She moaned, "Hmmm?"

And hell the vibrations around his cock were so excruciatingly beautiful he wanted to come there and then, but having the chance to fuck her dressed as she was was enough to give him that modicum of self control he needed.

"Love," he panted, slipping his hand to her shoulder and tightening his fingers. She let him slip from her mouth, running her tongue along the underside of his erection, before tilting up her chin to him. "Gods you dive me wild."

He could swear she blushed.

Twisting her hips, the coat fell completely open. Splaying out around her like a rippling cloak. She lay back her head and her hair fanned out around her in the manner of a Greek goddess. She arched her back and pushed up her breasts and he dived down to claim them once more. Eager fingers sought out her cunt as tongue lapped at her skin. Christ she was so wet. Quickly two fingers slipped inside her hot core and his thumb began to rub against her clit. He wanted her panting for him - screaming for him.

Sex was always a game with them. Who could push the other farthest. Who would crack first. Who would beg…

By the way she was writhing beneath him, he knew it wouldn't be long until he would feel her wrapped around his length and his stomach jumped in anticipation.

"Jesus, how did you get so good at this," she cried, clinging to his arms and pressing her chest tighter against his mouth.

"Practice, love," he teased and her fingers tightened. He loved it when she let out her jealous side.

"Is that so," she panted, her voice cracking as his fingers curved inside her, "And just how many women have you fucked in this coat?"

Running his tongue up her neck and across her jaw, he paused, face hovering over hers, enjoying how her pupils were blown wide and dark with lust and the way her lips were parted, going him a tantalising glimpse of her soft, pink tongue. "Now that would be telling," he growled, quickly sinking down on her lips again as her muscles tightly gripped his fingers and she came in cramping waves around him.

He loved the way her face pinched and twisted as she came, before relaxing and settling into an aura of utter bliss - her lips curved slightly upwards, the apples of her cheeks turning pink.

Settling back into reality, she opened her eyes into a half lidded gaze, pulling him tighter as she moved up the bed, wresting a little with the heavy and unwieldy coat. "Well, I guess it's time to make you forget all that," she smiled.

She rolled him onto his back, almost tantalisingly slowly; dragging her nails down his chest as he bucked his hips under her until he got a delicious sensation of her dampness at the base of his cock. Hands pressed against his chest, one wrapped in his pendant, she started to rock her hips. Her arousal began to coat him, until she was sliding easily, rubbing her clit against his hardness.

And fuck it felt so good.

He watched her. His coat was now pooled into he crook of her arms and spilling out behind her. Her hair was wild and curly tendrils brushed over her breasts as they softly swayed to the rhythm.

"You are such a fucking tease Swan," he sighed through gritted teeth.

"Is that so?" she cooed. Then she was circling her hips and he was so wet with her his own movements were becoming more erratic Her reached up and palmed her breasts. A little roughly, perhaps, but he knew she was enjoying it by the way she flicked up her head and bit her lip. "You love it." she added.

She reached forward until her chest was almost touching his. She grasped his shoulders and the cool leather of the jacket made his skin tingle while the familiar, earthy smell wrapped around them.

With a flick of her hips he was inside her. Slamming down onto him with a soft grunt, she tightened her thighs and started to rock and swirl her body.

There wasn't a regular rhythm. Instead she seemed to be using him to seek her own pleasure - writhing and twisting as she rode him, her breath ghosting over his face, her toes pressing against his thighs, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she gave out a series of soft, sexual sounds that had him positively aching for release.

Watching her fuck herself against him, in his coat, clearly in the throes of pleasure was too much.

"Christ, make yourself come. Come one. Use me."

The rocking of her hips quickened pace, quick little thrusts that he met with his own, each one resulting in a mutual sigh of appreciation. Her moans became louder and higher pitched, he knew she was close.

Reaching up, he grabbed the collar of his coat and slammed her mouth around his, his hooked hand supporting her ass as he pumped up into her rapidly. Then, as she cried into his mouth, he tumbled across the line of pleasure with her - emptying himself in short, jagged thrusts mixed with muttered curses and soft declarations.

Sated, she lay on him, but he felt light was air. His hand still curved in the leather. Her fingers still gripped his shoulders.

"Well, that was a surprise..."

He nuzzled into her neck and she shifted to look up at him. She was glowing with post coital satisfaction and he couldn't resist kissing her once more.

"Mmmhmmm," was her reply. A lazy smile on her lips told him she was still sinking back down from her high.

"And, a confession, I lied about the coat," he whispered into her ear, "You're the first. And the last."

And he felt the smile on her mouth deepen as she reached up and reclaimed his lips for her own.


	18. It's different in my world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Emma giving blowjob to Killian for the first time and he feels uncomfortable first because for him is a thing that you can ask a simple whore to do and he loves Emma too much to letting her doing it. But then she tells him how it is in her world ;)

They're kissing (again) and God he'll never get tired of this. The way her lips seem to fit perfectly against his, the softness of her tongue as it presses against his own, the feel of her silky hair as it brushes against his skin as they move in seemingly perfect tandem-

Grabbing his shirt, she pulls back and gives him a smile - that smile that lets him know she has an idea. It's a brilliant flash of white teeth and curved lips that is simultaneous the greatest thrill and greatest bane of his life (depending on the circumstances).

The next thing he knows she is pushing him towards the corner of the room. Walking backwards in the half light, he is almost blind. Suddenly his calves hit a barrier and he falls into a soft arm chair with a gentle 'umph'.

She's on her hands and knees in a second, clawing at his belt, biting her lip, breathing heavy and quick-

He's so turned on that he almost cries in relief when she releases him from the leather confines of his trousers, springing forth hot and hard and desperate to be touched.

With one hand, she encompasses his length, pressing each digit tighter, before slowly starting to rock her hand in a divine combination of pressure and rhythm. His eyes sink closed for a second, in satisfaction.

When he looks again, she is using her other hand to pull all her hair over one shoulder, licking her lips a little as she lowers her head - all the while keeping watch on his response.

His eyes widen in surprise, he wants to say something, but her lips are quicker that his. They press against his tip. She pulls away, a little as a string of moisture draws between her lips from his early arousal. Spellbound, he watches as she dips her head again, this time reaching out her tongue and circling the head of his cock. It's so devastating slow. He twitches into her touch in response. Then after a deep breath, she takes him in her mouth, still with her eyes fixed on his, wraps her lips around him, sliding her tongue over the hot, soft skin, then gently sucking, harder, harder-

"No, Swan-" he manages to pant.

She falls back on her heels, wiping her mouth with the back of one hand (the other still - fuck - gently rocking along his length).

"What?" she asks, a confused, slight hurt, expression marring her beautiful features.

He shakes his head, his breathing unsteady and - God - why won't she keep her hand still? "Stop, I can't let you, I mean…" She raises her brows, "You're no whore. I care for you too much to treat you like a common slattern."

After speaking, he lets himself look down to where she still holds him. Her hand has gone still.

She shuffles closer, letting him go so his erection falls back onto his still clothed stomach. She slides her arms along his thighs and raises herself on her knees so they are face to face. "Is that how it was in your world? Only whores would suck your cock?"

She knows what it does to him when she uses that kind of language-

"Yes," he replies with a strained whisper.

"Well, Killian Jones, things are different here." Her fingers are now digging into the waistband of his trousers, slowly tugging on them - he gets the idea and lifts his ass so she can pull them down. "In this world, the blow job is quite common - some may say expected."

His stomach clenches. She leans closer to whisper in his ear.

"Wanna know a secret?" she purrs. He nods. "Well, most importantly, I really, really enjoy giving one. May I suck your cock Killian? Will you let me make you come?"

"Christ," he whines. He's hard as rock now. "As you wish," he manages to say. He hears her smirk.

She sinks back again, head in line with his erection which is now ramrod straight and almost vertical.

Smiling, she runs her hands over his now bare legs, brushing against him a few times.

Tease.

Then without ceremony, she grabs him and engulfs him with her mouth. Deep and soft and wet and-

"Oh God, Emma-"

She's quickly in a rhythm, sucking him deeper, rocking her hand where her mouth won't reach.

Then unexpectedly she pushes down hard, he feels the soft warmth of the back of her throat then the heady sensation of her muscles pressing him as she swallows -

Fuck, he's hotter than an inferno. The pressure at his tip is almost unbearable.

Hesitantly, he threads his fingers though her hair. She looks at him, as if to give her permission. Gently, he pushes her into a rhythm, nudging her mouth over his cock in a way that he knows will make him come quickly.

And it's not that he wants the moment to end but - Christ - he needs release.

He tries not to press too hard, doesn't want to hurt her.

Quicker, quicker-

He's panting. Her mouth feels fucking divine. He can't believe this is happening. Killian Jones being sucked off by the most amazing woman of his acquaintance (and a princess at that).

All these thoughts are hazy and indistinct as he reaches the point of no return.

"Swan," he tries to warn her, "Swan, I-"

This only makes her move quicker. She anchors one hand to his hip. Then he is thrusting up into her mouth, unable to contain himself, because this feels so fucking amazing, he just might be in heaven.

He comes with a groan. She doesn't pull away. That only makes him groan harder.

After a few seconds, she looks up. She meets his eyes and he watches the muscles of her neck contract as she swallows.

Jesus, fucking, Christ-.

"You are bloody amazing," is all he can manage to say as she crawls up his body and kisses his lips.

And, yes, he can taste himself a little, but he doesn't care.

"Why thank you," she teases and he can see the sparkle in her eyes that tells him they are not done, "Perhaps you could return the favour and then I could evaluate your performance?"

The innocent, coy expression she gives him is too much-

"Aye, lass," he nods, curving his hands under her ass so he can pick her up and carry her over to the bed.


	19. The Nook

A blown tire, (and a flat  _spare_ tire) and damn it's one am and they are stuck in the middle of nowhere.

[Well, not quite. They managed to pull off the highway just in time and there in the distance she can make out a neon flashing 'Motel' sign.]

So with one baby and a grouchy teenager in tow, Emma, her parents and her, um, boyfriend (is she too old to call him that?) - find themselves checking into the Sunny View motel rather than arriving at the more luxurious surroundings of the cabin they had rented in the woods. (David had wanted to go camping, Mary Margaret insisted she had spent enough time sleeping outdoors in the Enchanted Forest - this was the compromise).

"It's only a couple more hours from here. We'll rest up, get a tire in the morning and be hiking through the forest in no time." Although he was her father, Emma could never quite understand how he could be so cheerful at such a late hour.

And of course there are only three rooms left, and of course Henry refused to share ('I need my privacy, mom' - she'd resisted the urge to snort).

She takes the faded gold key with oversized keychain that told her their room was called 'The Nook'. Trying to avoid Killian's amused smirk, she follows her parents along the hall and makes sure Henry is settled ('Mom, they don't have cable' was the first complaint) then goes to the next room where Killian is waiting outside.

"Don't get any ideas," she whispers as the door swings open and he follows her inside, "Henry is just next door."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replies smoothly.

"Crap," Emma mutters when she sees the bed. It's barely more than a single (and still takes up half the space - she sees where the room got it's name from).

"Well love, being cold shall not be a concern this evening."

Emma rolls her eyes as she shrugs off her jacket and toes off her boots. His seemingly neverending series of quips secretly make her smile, but of course she doesn't want him to know that.

A minute later, she had stripped down to her panties and tank top (wishing she had remembered to grab the bag from the car with her pajamas in it - well, kinda). Killian had already slipped beneath the covers. He was wearing the new underwear she had bought him ("Boxer briefs?" he had asked when he read the packaging, "Am I supposed to start some kind of fight in these?") and not much else. Lying on his side he is facing her, a teasing smile on his face as he pats the small patch of space remaining. "Come to bed, love."

She flicks off the bedside lamp and crawls under the thick, down comforter. Quickly he wraps his arm around her and hugs her body against his. His skin is searingly hot on her back and he brings his legs up underneath hers (she can feel the muscles of his thighs and a small beam of pleasure ripples through her, though she buries it quickly).

"'Night Killian."

"Goodnight," he whispers - just against her ear, his breath skating over her skin. She shivers a little.

It's really quiet in the motel room. She can hear the sound of her baby brother gurgling faintly in the distance, but everything else is still. There is a an analogue alarm clock on the bedside table and when the minutes flip over the sound echoes at a disproportionate volume.

Behind her, Killian is breathing steadily. His arm around her seems to relax a little, softening its grip and sliding back over her hip. His fingers find the bare strip of skin between her panties and tank top, she groans softly when he starts to brush against her hip bone, riding up her shirt and nuzzling against her neck ever so slightly.

She slips her her right hand under the pillow where her head lies and the left one moves to cover his, gently cupping it as it lays in the hollow of her waist and she can't help but rock her hips, just a little.

And damn, it's getting hot.

And Henry is just next door.

She catches a breath when he slides her hair from her shoulder and presses his damp lips against the exposed skin.

"Killian," she whines, in weak protest, her body betraying her when her neck arches to give his better access.

It's gentle, at first. Emma lets out a small, contented sigh.

What's the harm, she wonders - tightening her grip on his hand, subconsciously easing it upwards - a few kisses won't hurt-

Then his fingers graze the underside of her breast. She feels her nipples instantly tighten, his touch magnetic almost.

"Oh."

She tries to be quiet, but it's almost a whine.

His hand snakes up to cup her breast, his lips pressing into the place where neck meets shoulder. She releases his fingers, reaching back and guiding her own hand under the soft cotton of his underwear and pressing against the curve of his ass (one of her favorite features of his).

It's his turn to gasp.

"Swan," he growls, almost in warning. Her reply is to press back her hips. She smiles when she feels his hardness digging into her back.

 _Shit_ , she wants him.

No, her rational mind says.

"We shouldn't," she whispers.

But he is already toying with her breasts, his other hand is bundled up in her hair, tugging her back a little so he can reach her lips.

And they are kissing and, fuck, he's such a good kisser. His tongue is warm and his lips soft and full and she really could kiss him for hours (isn't she too old for that-?).

Reluctantly, she pulls her hand from his underwear and rolls to face him, not breaking the kiss; trying not to roll off the edge of the bed. He stops a second and nudges his nose against hers. How his blue eyes can be so afire, she'll never know. There's enough light coming through the curtains that she can't miss the intensity. But more than that she feels the pull and tug that only comes from being around him. She's drowning in something that she can't describe. It's a mixture of him and her and something else - something magic - that's potent and intoxicating and turning her body to mush.

The next kiss is softer. He's dragging her tank top higher. They break apart so he can pull it over her head-

[And they need to be quiet.]

She presses her bare breasts against his chest and, fuck, it feels good. All lean muscle and soft hair - so damn masculine that she can't help but melt (even more, that is). Her arms wrap around his neck.

He slides a leg between hers and his erection is now pushing into her stomach. She wants to touch him so badly-

First, she traces the outline through the material.

[He lets out a soft - 'umph']

When she reaches inside for him, she finds his tip damp. She slides her palm over it, letting the precum coat her skin before she slides down to grip him.

He's hot and thick and so damn hard - she starts to rock against his leg that's between her thighs, angling her hips to find the right kind of friction.

Just as he starts to roll her onto her back, the bed creaks. Both freeze. Emma swallows heavily, her hand still on his cock, his halfway between slipping into her panties.

After a second, she nods and he smiles, reaching in for another kiss. His fingers slide into her wetness. She knew she was very wet and enjoys the little groan and muttered 'fuck' from him, before their lips meet. Without ceremony, he quickly has a finger pumping into her, curving and reaching for her g-spot, while his thumb rubs her clit and she both hates him and loves him in that moment for just how quickly he makes her ready to come.

She's aching inside. His fingers aren't enough. His cock in her hand is teasing her and she squeezes him just a bit hard, biting her lip as he stops his kiss.

She's a goner. His fingers still stroke her and she lets her lids flutter closed. "I want you inside me when I come," she tells him.

[And damn him he doesn't stop - making her hover in a state between aroused and totally fucked].

Wriggling (reluctantly) away from his touch, she kicks away the comforter. She hooks her thumbs into the sides of her panties and pushes them down her legs, pressing back her ass, knowing the moonlight is giving him a fine view, before looking and cooing over her shoulder as if to say, 'well?'.

There's a little rustling as he pushes down his underwear (just enough so his cock is free) then his hands grab her waist and pull her back, his erection sliding between her legs, coated quickly in her wetness. She presses her thighs together for a second.

Both of his hands reach around to cup her breasts (she loves that) and she reaches between them, nudging him to her entrance until he slips inside cleanly, easing some of the ache that has built up within her. Fuck, he feels good.

Then he is kneading the flesh of her breasts and she is rocking against him, taking him deep. It's actually a little painful, but in a good way. He's just that little bit  _too_  big, but the full feeling is too divine to stop.

They rock against each other in tandem. You'd really think they had been doing this for years, not months, the way they seemed to be able to anticipate what each other needed. A twist here, a pause, faster, slower, _faster_ -

Her wetness coats her thighs (and his), the slide is easy and she reaches down to touch her clit. He's toying with her nipples and she can feel the sweat rolling off him.

"Oh God-" she whispers, trying to resist the urge to ride wildly against him (they have to be quiet!).

But somehow, having to not make noise was making this even more of a turn on. Every breath, every slap of skin against skin, every soft groan heightened her senses until it felt like the room was gone and there was nothing but him and her. She could feel her orgasm building up - in her gut, in her toes-

"Emma-" he warns.

She presses harder back into each thrust.

Then, fuck, it feels like she is falling into some deep dark hole. She's weightless. Her body is cramping, she feels her toes curl and the muscles of her stomach ripple as he gives a last few shuddering thrusts.

The quiet is back, except for their heavy breathing. She doesn't have the energy to move and seemingly neither does he. He softens and slips out of her and then they press their bodies together again.

Sleep comes easily this time.

/

"So kid, did you sleep well?" Emma asks, as they wait for the car.

"Yeah, I fell asleep listening to my iPod. I hate it when it's too quiet."

Emma smiles and exchanges a conspiratorial glance with Killian, who raises his eyebrows in reply.

She sees the car coming around the corner from the main road, David is driving; it now has four, functioning tires.

"And what about you," she coos as Mary Margaret arrives with her baby brother, taking hold of his tiny hand and smiling.

"He was an angel," her mother replied as the car pulls up. Henry and Killian step forward and load Neal's stroller and baby bag into the trunk. "I had a little trouble though." Emma stops and looks at the other woman's face. "Thin walls," she whispers, before walking toward the car and leaving Emma open mouthed.

 


	20. In the heat of the moment

Somehow it's come to this.

There was no discussion: well, not one with words anyway. Their date had been a trip out on a loaned boat accompanied by a picnic of Granny's finest and a bottle or two or French red. As always, he walked her home and she invited him in for a nightcap (and thank God it was late so everyone else was in bed - because with everything that has been going on in their crazy town she and Henry still haven't found the right apartment).

Halfway through a glass of spiced rum, he leans over and kisses her - his lips slick with cool alcohol, her tongue burning a little as she moves across the couch to sit in his lap. And it's lazy and soft but- there's something there, simmering underneath each movement.

He doesn't protest when she takes his hand. Her heart thuds as they walk across the loft, tiptoeing so the floorboards don't creak, feeling like a rebellious teenager sneaking a boy home (or at least, that's what she thinks this feels like-).

Her heart is racing. He must be able to hear it-

Then she puts her hand on his chest as he closes the door and she realizes that his is doing the same.

It's a strange kind of giddiness that overcomes her when he starts to kiss her neck and guide her to the bed. His fingers (of his two hands - she still wasn't used to that) working the buttons of her silk blouse while she tugs on his thick leather belt. And, shit, she has to swallow a laugh because  _this is actually happening_. Of course she knew it would, eventually, but still.

"Love," he whispers, "Are you sure-"

And damn sometimes he's too much of a gentleman and she's too scared to put herself out there - and if they don't take the plunge now they might be dancing around this for God-knows-how-long and, fuck, she needs to feel him inside her-

"Yes-" she almost growls, falling back onto the soft mattress so he tumbles on top of her.

He's so tender with her, she kind of wants to push things up a notch - scared she'll fall into old habits and have second thoughts. His hands push her shirt over her shoulders. She goes to work on his buttons of his vest. The kiss goes on and she feels the heat between her thighs grow and she wants this  _so much_.

There's a moment where the kiss breaks and they quickly pull off the rest of their clothes. Undressing is fine foreplay, but both of them know this is a long time coming and tonight the entree is more important than the appetizer. She runs her hands over his body, shyly avoiding his crotch at first, closing her eyes and drinking in the sensation of his lean muscles. It feels so good to finally just touch him without a barrier of leather and cotton in her way.

When she does let herself touch him, he gasps. It's dark: she already has a good idea of his size but in the flesh, so to speak, he feels so good in her hand and she can't help massaging him a little until he whines - "Emma" - and she understands that's not how he wants this to go and so she reluctantly releases him.

He's busy exploring her body, cupping her breasts, nuzzling his face against their flesh as he nips his way down her torso. With her fingers threaded through his hair, she lays back - seeing stars as he starts to kiss the inside of her thighs, pressing her legs apart before burying his face between them as he starts to devour her.

She's torn between succumbing to the pleasure and moving things forward until two fingers slide inside her and he's rocking against her g-spot and the stars become a blinding white and she has to bite on the back of her hand to stop from crying out as a searing orgasm tears her apart-

And normally, that'd be enough. She'd be satisfied and done.

But as soon as he's kissing his way back up her body, she's wrapping her legs around his waist - needing more, craving him with an urgency that catches her breath.

She considers returning the favor (briefly) but he's pressing at her entrance and there'll be plenty of time for that later (and there will be many laters, she assures herself).

He lifts his head and looks into her eyes, holding her face in his hands, letting her see his expression of bliss as he slips into her. His lips are parted and his breath is shaking (and, fuck, he feels so good). Then he's bottomed out and her body protests a little (it's been a while) but any burn is soothed when he starts to slowly rock.

[He understands they need to be quiet, she realizes].

She cups his face when his arms move to her sides so he can increase his pace. She's at the edge of the bed and his feet are still on the floor, giving him a substance to each movement which has her shifting up the mattress as his balls swing against her ass (and she likes that). The bedsprings make a little noise. She tells herself it's okay.

For a brief moment she wonders if they should have waited. He's pressing deeper and harder and circling his hips so he hits her clit at the same time and she's meeting each thrust she really, really wants to scream-

His heavy breathing is so goddamn erotic, because she knows it's because of  _her_.

And she's not fooling herself, this is more than fucking because there's feelings and history (and she's pretty sure he loves her and knows she is falling for him too-): her mind is a mess and she wants to tell her inner voice to shut up and enjoy this.

She silences herself, by pulling him down for another kiss. His scruff burns her skin, their lips slide against each other. It's a tangle of two people so eager and needy for each other, who've waited too long.

It's a different kind of build than she ever felt before. The fullness of him inside is creating a sensation deep within her gut. A pulsing, growing burn that feels a little bit electric and increasingly hot.

She's putty in his hands. The proud part of her wants to play a more active role, but she's too spent and too deep into this to do more than weakly dig her nails into his shoulders and hold on for dear life as he takes her harder-

(And she will make it up to him).

(And they are making  _too much_ noise-)

A sudden clarity hits her, like storm clouds parting and revealing a clear blue sky.

She forgot to get out a condom. She left her pill packs in New York.

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_ -

The clouds of passion form again, and really, she should stop this, it's reckless and what if-

But then she feels the first pulses of orgasm and it's too late because he's there with her. Their bodies are hot and slick and her skin's sticking to the bed sheet and her legs are a little numb and he's grunting that little bit too loud (but she loves it and it's pushing her headfirst into her release).

And when it happens its such a relief she wants to cry. The culmination of months of dancing around each other in some cruel kind of foreplay is better than she could ever imagine. It's like she's being torn apart and rebuilt, cell by cell, as he pants her name into her neck, kissing it slowly as he slumps against her, his body weight oddly comforting.

Consciousness fuzzily returns. He's stroking her hair away from her face. The room smells like sex and him. She likes it. Then she remembers-

"Shit," she whispers.

"What's wrong?" he quickly asks.

"We forgot, um, you know, to-"

And why she feels shy right now, she'll never know (he's still inside her for Christ's sake!), but he seems to understand.

"Damn, I should have stopped-"

"I normally take a pill," she explained, "And there's condoms in the dresser-" (She explained those to him one drunken night at The Rabbit Hole. That had been an interesting third date).

It's awkward for a second. She knows him so well, but this is different and she feels stupid.

"So there's a chance-" he stops when she nods and bites her lip.

"A little, I guess," she admits. She knows she's mid cycle. She knows this is how Henry came to be conceived-

Wordlessly, he pulls out of her, and slides onto the bed, pulling a blanket over them.

"You know, I'm in this for the long haul Emma. I'm not going anywhere-"

Her heart thuds at his words. Because, strangely, the thought of another child doesn't scare her like she thought it would ( _his_ child - even if it's early, even if it seems rushed-).

"Promise?" she whispers, entwining their fingers and staring up at him, mesmerised by the handsome lines of his face and the look of pure adoration in his eyes. He nods and kisses her nose. "We'll be more careful: I mean, the chances are we got lucky, I mean what are the odds - you know?"

He smiles.

"Regardless, never think you'll be alone again, love. I'm a very persistent man."

And she knows he is, and that's part of what she loves about him.

/

She gets her period ten days later. There's a twinge of disappointment.

/

They make the decision together. Six months after their first time; sure it's what they both want, both a little giddy when they start to  _try_.

Soon she's staring at a white plastic stick and smiling, happy tears in her eyes. Such a contrast to her first experience of  _this._

_She can't wait to tell him._


	21. Insatiable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally in a stable relationship, they just can't get enough of each other...

He was looking at her again, in that way that made her cheeks flush pink and the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up on edge.

It’d been over a month since it first happened. 

Rumple defeated. The author found. Everyone was just… happy. So when she’d taken his hand and pulled him toward his room in Granny’s, it was only inevitable that the burgeoning fire between them would erupt.

And erupt it goddamn did.

In the grip of passion, she fluttered into consciousness, realising with a start that it had never been this way before. So right, so satisfying, so tantalisingly breathtaking that they’d spent the entire night making love.

Since then, it had never, ever been enough.

Today was no different. His lips quirked into a small smile. It was 8am and Granny’s was busy with the morning crowd. Killian had sauntered in just a few moments earlier, a lazy grin on his face. She’d pressed her thighs together as she sat at the countertop waiting for her coffee. The skin between them was still burning from his attentions; his scruff having dragged over it’s sensitive flesh as she lost count of the number of times she came the night before. 

And still now she could see it in his eyes, the _wanting._

And she felt it too.

He was by her side in an instant. “Hello, love,” he cooed into an ear, a damp kiss pressed against her cheek. A shot of heat ran straight to her groin and she restrained the urge to gasp.

Not quite trusting herself to respond straight away, she thanked Granny when their coffees were deposited on the countertop, spinning around on the stool and handing him his with a wink and a breathless, “Let’s get out of here.”

They should have gone straight to work. But David was at the station and Belle was manning the library quite well (her pirate, a librarian: the thought made her chuckle). So grasping his hand and quickly striding in the direction of the loft hadn’t been too irresponsible.

“Love,” he panted as she slammed the door. Aurora was babysitting Neal. Snow and Henry were at school. 

Precious moments alone.

“Five minutes,” she cooed, shuddering as his teeth scraped over her neck.

“Aye,” he panted.

Kisses and touches were superseded by the removal of boots and pants (hers at least). His fingers pressed into her ass as he moved her over to the kitchen countertop, simultaneously using his teeth to drag down her, thankfully low, neckline and nibble the skin of her breasts.

“Shit,” she cried, the heat between her thighs unbearable as she she parted them, pulling him closer, using her heels to nudge his hips forward until he slid inside her. Like he belonged just there.

“Swan,” he growled, his head resting a moment on her chest, his hips stalling as he filled her completely. Emma paused, sinking in the feel of him, deep inside. The heat, the hardness… _Fuck._

It took a twitch of her hips to start his motion. He held the pace as she dug her fingers into his hair and neck, whispering filthy things to each other as she felt her release grow ever quicker until it was suddenly there - pulsing out through each limb, a satisfying rhythm of contractions that had her spent and shuddering in his arms as he pushed himself quickly after her.

There was no time for platitudes or hollow words. Just desperately exchanged ‘I love you’s and the unspoken promise that he would see her later. 

In the most intimate of ways.

So when she had been updating some files in the station, just after one, and his hand had slipped over her shoulder, she smiled at first. The satisfaction of the morning’s activities still lingering so she was all the more surprised that the flame of want began to grow anew.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered in her ear, and she felt herself shiver. 

“It’s only been five hours,” she said as she turned to face him.

(And they both know that she meant more than just _seeing_ her).

“What can I say, love?” he began, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re always on my mind.”

The intonation in his voice was maddeningly provocative. His fingers slid down her neck as her eyes flickered closed.

‘David is-“ she began, before he silenced her with a kiss.

“On a two hour lunch with Robin,” Killian replied, pulling her to stand and deepening the kiss until her fingers we clawing against his shirt and she was pressed up against her desk.

“We really shouldn’t…” she protested meekly, his lips now pressing a trail down her neck.

“Five minutes,” he begged, running his lips over her collar bone, her hips jerking at the all too sinfully amazing sensation.

Catching his eye, she smiled deviously, quickly moving to lock the main door of the station as he made his way to the side office, where at least they could have some semblance of privacy.

Because this was madness, and they really, really shouldn’t…

Inside, five minutes, became fifteen. 

Fitful kisses were exchanged as she peeled away his shirt, nibbling on his chest as he pushed down her skin-tight jeans and pulled her back towards the forgotten desk and chair that lay amongst the boxes of files waiting to be sorted.

She couldn’t resist toying with him, no matter how much she wanted - no needed - to feel him inside her again. The button fly of his leather pants was quickly undone (after weeks of practice, she now considered herself an expert) and she sank to her knees as he sat.

“Emma-“ he protested meekly, just as her lips enveloped him, taking him deep into her throat so his curls brushed her nose and he let out a strangled gasp. Rolling her tongue over his length she relished in his warmth. The little noises he made as she sucked and licked were deeply erotic, increasing the dampness between her legs until he was panting for respite, begging her to stop. It took just a second to pull away and stand, swinging herself over his lap, sinking down on him, feeling a fleeting guilt at their behaviour, until her orgasm rose. He thrust up into her sloppily, fingers digging into her stomach, hook pressing into her ass - he came loud. She smiled, feeling that singular sense of pride at a job well done; until he began rubbing at her clit and dragging her along with him until she was stifling her own cries.

Finally, limp and sweaty, she lay against him, kissing his hairline, wondering if it would always be that way between them.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he whispered as his arms wound around her back.

“Just thinking.”

“About…”

“Us,” she admitted with a smile. “It’s never been like this before. For me.” Feeling strangely coy, though he was still inside her, she let her eyes drop to the ground.

“The needing?” he asked. She nodded, biting her lip.

“Me neither,” he continued, pressing a final fierce kiss to her lips. “And I wouldn’t change it for the world.

***

A suspected robbery and a car crash on Main St had kept her occupied until the sun had began to set, leaving the sky a spectacular melding of oranges and reds as she made her way home. Her smile almost matched the ferocity of the skyline as she drove the bug home, parking up by the kerb just as the radio began to play her favourite song.

Turning the keys, she sat a moment, humming along, tapping out the beat on the steering, as the endorphins that had been flooding her veins in recent weeks continued their happy dance in her bloodstream.

The door opened unexpectedly and she started until a familiar leather clad form slid into the passenger seat.

“Jesus Killian, you scared me half to death.”

“Apologies love, you know my penchant for the dramatic entrance.”

Rolling her eyes, she shifted in her seat so she could look at his profile.

“That I do,” she chuckled. “So how was your day?”

“Not bad,” he smiled, “There were a couple of _particular_ highlights…”

“Oh really?” she laughed, raising her brows and biting down on her bottom lip. “Do tell…”

He leaned in, his eyes roaming over her body as she sucked in a deep breath. “Well, there’s this girl…”

“Really,” she murmured, tilting her head.

“Yes. And I really like her. More than like her…”

“You don’t say,” she said, leaning in to drop a kiss on the tip of his nose. “Do you think she likes you?”

He gave her an adorable little shoulder shrug, which tugged on her stomach and urged her to kiss him properly, dragging him over the handbrake to rake her fingers through his hair. 

He tasted like coffee and smelled like the cologne she had bought him on their one month anniversary. It was an intoxicating combination and it wasn’t a case of just wanting him. She _needed_ him.

“Fuck,” she cried, as she pried her mouth from his. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” he asked, his blue eyes bright and lively, his lush pink lips parted to give her a tantalising glimpse of moist tongue.

“Make me want you so much?”

“I could ask you the same, love,” he replied as his hand slipped under her shirt to caress her cotton clad breast and make her eyes roll back.

Lust flooding her body, she flashed him a quick smile, before leaning back into her seat and shifting the bug into drive.

Five minutes later, hidden beneath the canopy of trees (thank _god_ for the woods) they had scrambled into the back of the bug, both seats laid back, groping and teasing one another like randy teenagers parking for the first time.

He pressed her into the seat when he rolled his body onto hers. Emma sighed happily when she felt his want digging into her hip, his lips slipping over hers, his fingers scraping the exposed skin where her shirt had risen.

Hooking her legs around his, she paused a moment. The moonlight was just enough to make out his enamoured expression, one she knew she wore equally in that moment. “How did this happen?” she suddenly asked. “Us, I mean.”

Killian ran his tongue between his lips.

“Fate?” he offered, just slightly tilting his hips into hers.

“I like the sound of that,” she replied, reaching up into his kiss once more.

Two orgasms later and she finally made it back to the loft, a permanent smile on her lips that was met by a knowing look from her mother.

_Damn, she really needed her own place._


	22. Magic Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I asked for smut prompts, I got this one 'massage'

It was almost inconceivable that a man with only one had should be this good at giving a massage, but here she was groaning in pleasure as his hand and hook masterfully worked her back muscles into submission.

Splayed out over their bed (yes, _theirs,_ finally) she luxuriated in the twin sensations of his warm fingers and the cool metal of his hook sliding over her skin. She arched her back, pushing her ass against him where he currently straddled her back.

“Now Miss Swan, if you continue with this behaviour this massage may not be concluded.”

Biting her lip, she pressed her hips back harder, enjoying his groan as she met the resistance of his hips and the heavy weight of his arousal pushed against her.

“Minx,” he muttered, leaning over her body, pressing his lips against her neck as his hand worked against her shoulders. Each kiss was like a tiny brand on her skin: featherlight but burning.

“You love it,” she replied, her hips beginning to rock in time with his kisses as they moved across her shoulders.

“Aye, I do,” Killian sighed as he gently turned her over so they were face to face. His eyes took a moment to wander over her - naked save for the lace panties that she may have wore to torment him. The look of joy and lust and love in his eyes made her shudder in anticipation. At times like these, he looked at her like she was his entire world it never failed to affect her deeply.

Drawing her fingers through the hair that curled at his neck, she pulled him in for a kiss. The small buttons of his shirt pressed against her bare skin. The heavy denim of his jeans scuffed her thighs making them tingle.

The kiss was endless, suffocating and deeply arousing. The heat in her belly and the dampness between her thighs were almost unbearable by the time his hand finally moved to cup her breast.

“Careful love,” he warned in a hot whisper in her ear, “I might begin to call you libidinous.”

Quickly she curled her fingers in his collar and pulled him closer, “I don’t care what you call me as long as you fuck me.”

“Christ,” he moaned, capturing her mouth with renewed ferocity, driving his lips into hers, the ridge of his erection just hitting her clit in a way that was wonderful but nowhere near enough.

Pulling away again from his delicious mouth, she whispered in his ear, “Fuck me.”

Within a second, he was lifting her further up the bed before furiously pulling at the belt and fly of his jeans. She watched him, eyes wide, thumbs hooked teasingly in her panties. She knew she looked good. She knew by the look on his face and the way her heart beat so fast she though she might explode. No one had ever made her feel so wanted.

“Come here,” he grunted, finally gloriously naked, his voice thick with desire. He reached out with his look, digging it into the lace of her underwear and pulling it down her legs, the tip of the look leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

“You come here,” she purred, beckoning him with a curved finger. He cocked an eyebrow, a wicked smile on his lips as he leapt forward. 

His fingers found her wet and wanting, his hardness pressing against her thigh as he teased her clit. Those fingers quickly found their way inside, stroking her walls, making her keen her body closer to his. “Stop teasing,” she demanded, pressing her short nails into his shoulders, this time just wanting him now. No precursor needed.

“As you wish,” he replied - god he knew what those words did to her. Her stomach twisted into a know as his fingers released her.

A moment later, they were face to face, her legs automatically wrapping around his hips, a brief adjustment as he lined himself up to her entrance, and then-

_Sweet relief._

It was slow burn as he buried himself within her body, her toes and fingers tingling as she clung to him, enjoying every sold inch inside her, wishing she could always feel this way - complete, whole, loved.

It didn’t take long for the rhythm to have them both panting, a thin sweat on his forehead, the slide of their bodies against each other as they searched for that perfect spot-

Grabbing a pillow, he placed it under her lips, angling her in a way that he hit her deep and hard and - _fuck -_ oh so good that she knew she wouldn’t last long.

“Killian,” she muttered, her eyelids fluttering as she struggled to maintain lucidity, her mind overwhelmed with the pleasure and the build towards the inevitable.

“Christ you feel good, fuck Emma-“ he picked up his pace, slamming into her, her heels pressing into his ass, the room spinning - “God the things you do to me-“

His voice was low and desperate, his hook was digging into her shoulder, almost enough to hurt, his hand had found her breast again, grabbing the flesh possessively-

And she didn’t want it to end- but she wanted to own him all the same. To make him hers, for him to succumb to her and her body - for him to empty himself inside her, brand her as his. Quickly she jolted her hips in time with his, meeting his movements, the speed dizzying and frenetic, the bed springs beneath them groaning, twin heavy breaths filing the air-

_Then bliss._

Pure, white pleasure rippled through her body, jolting her limbs, making her cry out indecipherable words-

The calm descended quickly. He followed her release, his body spasming, his mouth muttering filthy, loving things before he collapsed to one side.

Her racing heart began to steady. Her skin cooled, the flush on her cheeks all the more apparent. She used and aching in the best way possible.

“So love,” he said, with a teasing lilt to his voice, “How was the massage?”

She laughed - light and carefree, turning to meet his ridiculously blue gaze, “Not bad. You can do that again,” she smiled.

“Not bad?” he cried in mock horror, his eyes comically wide, “I’ll give you not bad-“

And as he began to tickle her mercilessly and nip at her skin with his teeth, she sighed happily.

This was what she had always wanted: love, trust and hope. 

It had only taken a 300 year old pirate and a little bit of magic for this dream to come true.

 


	23. That Guy Next Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some AU smut, just cos...

The noise of the party was only partly drowned out by the heavy bathroom door against which she was pressed. Her skin ached where Killian Jones was currently laying open-mouthed kisses. It was a cold burn, what that made her squirm and rock her hips forward searching for his own.

This was a precarious situation. The apartment only had one bathroom. Getting caught was… not advisable.

“Fuck,” she groaned as he flicked open the button of her fly and slid his palm down her stomach and into her panties. “Killian-”

“Shhh,” he whispered into her ear, grinding himself against her thigh until she bit back a groan at the feel of his heavy, thick erection digging into her flesh. “Quiet, Swan.”

Simultaneously she wanted to kill him and beg him to continue. He’d been making eyes at her all night. Dropping lewd comments under his breath. Running that dangerous tongue along his lip whenever she looked his way.

Fuck Killian Jones and his goddamn sex appeal that had her so turned on that two margaritas later she was dragging him by the collar into her tiny bathroom.

(And fuck it all - since she had made it quite clear to her girlfriends that her next door neighbour was not someone she would ever be interested in. And fuck it all again when she had invited him to her birthday party to prove it to them.)

So fucking turned on was she was already soaking wet and his fingers slid easily between her folds making her breathing became heavy and laboured. He toyed with her, circling her clit with his thumb and drawing circles with his tongue on her neck.

“Oh Swan, I think you like me more than you let on,” he murmured, his free hand now snaking up under her shirt and bra and palming her breast just on the right side of hard.

“This means nothing,” she pleaded in vain.

“Oh really?” he purred as one long finger slid easily inside her, quickly curling to stroke against her most sensitive spot (she hated the name g-spot - what the hell did that even mean?).

There was a soft bang as her head fell back against the door, her hips rocking in time with his movements as he added another finger and began a rhythm that had her wanting him twice as much.

Killian pressed his face into the expanse left by her low cut t-shirt; one hand pinched and rolled a nipple as his tongue edged ever closer.

She was burning up. It was the alcohol: of course it was the rum...

“Killian,” she whined as his thumb once again found her clit and she lost track of the sensations: each movement of his doing sinful things that made her legs turn to jelly-

“Tell me what you want, love.”

God, she was going to come.

“I…”

Keeping her eyes open was impossible. She was wrapped in a cocoon of sensation. Hot, wet, dangerous sensation.

This shouldn’t be happening-

“Oh fuck, I…”

“Tell me,” he insisted, slowing his movements, frustration growing inside her-

“I want to- to-”

She peeled open her eyes and saw him staring at her - those deep blue eyes that she’d secretly admired and always avoided looking at. They were boring into her, reaching deep down inside until she couldn’t take it any more-

“I want you.”

“As you wish,” he replied, diving in for a powerful kiss as he pressed another finger deep into her, his thumb working earnestly at her clit, the other hand kneading her flesh until she thought she would combust with pent up wanting. Until, until-

Her hands, that had been loosely around his neck tightened as she came hard and fast, sparks jolting through her limbs as she kissed him needily, wanting to extend the moment before the inevitable happened.

She continued rocking her hips until reality began to dawn. He was still hard against her. Slowly, she laid her head back against the door as he slid his hand out from between her legs, a smug little smirk on his lips.

“Asshole,” she whispered as she fasted her fly.

“Come now Swan,” his voice low and gravelled and just a bit ridiculously sexy, “You have to agree that was-”

“A one time thing,” she quickly finished, narrowing her eyes and running her tongue over her lip.

He smirked again, this time raising his right hand and placing one finger in his mouth, running his tongue along the digit and moaning softly. “We’ll see,” he replied with a wink.

“Get out. I’ll follow in a few minutes.”

“If the lady insists,” he quipped with a mock bow, quickly adjusting himself in his jeans before he opened the door and slipped out.

She was glad she had left him with a raging erection. Served him right, damn asshole-

Damn gorgeous, sexy, freaking hot, next door neighbour asshole who she really shouldn’t have a thing for-

Yet as she smoothed her hands over her dishevelled hair - the feel of his hands and kisses still ringing out on her skin - she admitted to herself that maybe she did...


	24. Hot and steamy with a side of risotto

_**A little angsty fluff.** _

The kitchen of Granny’s Bistro had never been considered a cool and airy place. Even in the depths of the Maine winter, the hot saucepans and even hotter tempers could give Hell a running for tipping the mercury. And today, tempers were fraying even more than usual.

Regina Mills, food critic for the Boston Globe and generally considered one of the hardest women to please in the city, had decided that today would be the day she would finally pass her judgement on the business. And it just so happened to be the last day before the eponymous Granny returned from a three week cruise, having left Emma in charge, backed up by a temporary sous chef. A temporary sous chef with an annoying smirk, a ridiculously annoying British accent and an even more annoying habit of second guessing every culinary choice she made.

Killian Jones was some hot shot from Boston who for some God-knows-what reason had decided a sabbatical to the middle of nowhere Maine would be some kind of vacation from his otherwise thriving restaurant career. And being the arrogant SOB she had pegged him to be on their first meeting (where he had looked at her as if he could see through her clothes and raised a lewd eyebrow when Granny asked if he was looking forward to working beneath Emma-) he seemed determined to meddle with every one of Granny's recipes.

“Jones!” Emma growled as she checked the dishes set out for service. Angrily, she tapped her foot on the tiled floor as she waited for the other chef to appear.

She was alerted to his presence by the smell of his cologne (which, of course, she did not like and that did not make her eyes sink shut every time she smelled it). She kept her gaze fixed on the dish in front of her, already clearly able to picture the smug look she knew he was wearing.

“You called?” he quipped and she could goddamn HEAR the smirk in his voice.

Spinning to face him, she picked up the plate of pasta and pointed to it, “Why is there goat cheese in the ravioli? That is not part of the recipe.”

“It’s better this way,” he shrugged, placing one hand on the serving counter and leaning in that nonchalant way which she had been struggling to not find attractive for the past three weeks.

“Says who?” she snapped, slamming down the bowl and folding her arms whilst simultaneously trying to ignore the bulge of his biceps peeking out from under the material of his chef’s whites short sleeves.

He took a step closer too, a teasing swing in the movement of his hips. “Says me.”

She should have predicted that response. “Stop fucking with my dishes, Jones.”

“Oh, what should I be ‘fucking’, then?”

Emma’s jaw dropped wide open, her cheeks turning even redder than the heat had made them already, before she could compose herself.

“Screw you,” she spat, turning on her heel.

“If you insist,” he called from behind her.

Asshole.

///

Two days later and Granny was back. And so was the review from Ms. Mills.

“’Best ravioli I have ever tasted,’” Killian read aloud for what must have been the thousandth time that day, Emma could practically hear his chest puffing up with arrogance.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard that the first ten times,” Emma replied, swatting her hand in his direction as she poured over the schedules Granny had already prepared for next week. “Wait, why are you working on Monday? I thought today was your last shift?”

“Didn’t you hear?” he asked, clearly surprised.

“Hear what?”

He tossed her a curious smile, sidling up next to where she leaned over the kitchen’s office table.

“Granny has asked me to stay another month. It would be bad form to lose the chef who cooked the, and I quote, ‘best ravioli’ that evil witch Regina Mills has ever tasted.”

“Are you serious?” she screeched, immediately deciding to confront Granny about this right away.

“I never joke about food, Swan,” he deadpanned, before flashing her a huge - devastating - smile.

A peculiar feeling flashed over her as she tried not to focus on the gleam of his teeth and the way he ran his tongue along his lower lip.

“Really? Well we’ll see about that,” the snapped, grabbing the schedule and storming out of the small room.

///

It was true.

Granny had tried to tell her it would be good for the business.

And promised her that she was still head chef.

And assured her that having Jones around wasn’t such a bad thing-

(Yeah right - give him six weeks and he’ll have changed the menu to English pub grub and renamed it ‘Killian’s Bistro,’ she’d seethed as she listened to the older woman speak).

But it wasn’t like she had any choice - Granny had provided the capital for the business and her tried and tested recipes were the cornerstone of the menu. Emma, as talented as she knew she was, was solely there to cook.

Later that night, Emma had concentrated on keeping a scowl on her face almost as hard as she concentrated on stirring the seafood risotto that was today’s special.

“Careful Swan, don’t want that to burn.”

She felt her cheeks flush at the sound of his melodic brogue.

“Bite my ass, Jones,” she growled, refusing to look his way.

(And in no way letting a fleeting images of said scenario pop into her mind-)

“What’s wrong, love?” he asked, his voice lower and closer. Thank God it was, as usual, ridiculously hot in the kitchen, so any reaction his closeness would have created in her body was minimal.

“Are you seriously asking that right now? Mr. Could-get-a-job-wherever-he-pleases?”

“Come again?” he asked. She flashed him a glance and saw confusion marring his features.

“If you’d wanted my job Jones, you could have been a little more direct about it,” she explained, letting her ever present insecurity come to the fore.

He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. “Is that what you think this is? Me trying to take your position here?”

“And what else could it be?”

Killian took a deep breath, “Maybe I just like it here, Swan?”

“Please, you’ve worked in some of the best restaurants on the East Coast.”

“Aye,” he nodded, “And now I’m here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked with an exasperated sigh.

“Never mind, Swan,” he replied, shaking his head and sauntering back to his section.

Emma had an uneasy feeling in her stomach as she watched him walk away. Why did she let him irk her so?

///

It was midnight and the kitchen was finally quiet. Emma sat eating leftover risotto as she stared into the darkened dining room, considering what her next move would be when she was inevitably usurped by the annoying Mr. Jones.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Starting, she almost dropped her fork. “Shit, Jones, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Well wouldn’t that have been helpful in my dastardly plan to take over this place?”

His shit eating grin was almost too much to bear when combined with her growing embarrassment over her earlier outburst. She wasn’t in the habit of letting her insecurities out like that - far better to keep things in. Thankfully, he brushed over his comment by picking a fork from the cutlery tray and starting to eat the risotto directly from her bowl.

“Hey!” she cried, “What are you doing?”

He shoved a forkful in his mouth, chewing with a smile.

“Just tasting the goods.”

Seriously, did everything he said have to be so laced with innuendo?

“Well, get your own,” she huffed, pulling the bowl closer.

A few seconds of silence followed, before he spoke. “You know Swan, you really ought not worry. Granny thinks very highly of you. And you are a good cook.”

“Hmph,” she replied.

“Let me make that very good,” he amended, sneaking his fork back into the bowl.

“I said stop!” she shouted, grabbing his wrist midway between bowl and mouth.

Loosening his fingers he held his gaze steady.

A crackle of tension fizzled between them.

“I just don’t get you, Jones.”

He smiled wryly, twirling the fork absentmindedly in his hands. “How’s that, Swan?”

Words began to bubble up her throat, she puffed out her chest-

Before it all deflated. “Forget it,” she whispered, shaking her head.

“No, please, enlighten me. There has to be more to your reaction to me than fear about your job security.”

Scooping up another mouthful of risotto, he chewed thoughtfully as she looked him up and down.

“Why are you here?” she finally asked.

“I needed a break.”

“From what? Being super successful? Running your own kitchen?” She shook her head.

He splayed the fingers of his unoccupied hand on the table between them. “I can’t deny that I’ve been lucky in that respect, love.”

“Lucky? I’ve worked years to get where I am. I’ve scraped my way up the ladder to finally have control of my own kitchen and then you just waltz in and try and tell me that none of that matters?”

“When have I done that, love?”

And he hadn’t, really. She knew that. Certainly not in words and not in actions either, if she were honest. So she shrugged.

“Just because I’ve realised that my previous path was not the one for me don’t let you think that I am invalidating your own. If you want an honest answer, the pressure got too much. My job became about profit and bureaucracy. I just want to cook.”

It did make a little sense. Granny had mentioned something about him wanting to take a step back from the frontline-

(Not that she had paid much attention, after she had insisted to Granny that she could run the kitchen alone in her absence-)

“Look, I’m tired and cranky and it’s been a long week,” she apologised weakly, berating herself as she spoke. If Killian was an ass, maybe she was a little bit of a one too.

Silently he nodded.

“I meant what I said earlier, Swan. You are a very good cook. One of the best I’ve come across in some time. And perhaps one of the reasons I want to stick around a little longer is because I do quite enjoy working under you.”

His smile was a mixture of sincere and playful and though she rolled her eyes she felt a little flutter of pleasure in her belly. He was complimenting her with the most sincerity she had yet to see him display.

“Always with the innuendo,” she chuckled as he took another bite, watching her carefully as he chewed thoughtfully, stealing a sip from her glass of water as she felt the heat on her cheeks spread down her neck and chest.

“The sentiment was honest love, however poorly expressed.”

And then they locked eyes.

Emma felt a shiver wriggle down her spine.

She’d been told in the past she had emotional walls higher than the Empire State Building. It had always served her well - no one could climb them, no one could hurt her. But it had often had the unwelcome side effect of making her block out almost everyone from her personal life. And it made making a real judgement of someone new very hard as she was barely able to peer over the top.

Yet now, here was this man she knew so little, willingly sharing a little of himself, with the real presumption of nothing in return.

And as she looked into his eyes she made a decision: maybe this guy deserved a chance. Maybe all this fighting her attraction to him was really because, maybe - just maybe - she could even see herself falling for him and his stupid accent, and his annoyingly blue eyes, and his annoying way with words-

The fork fell from his hand, clattering on the metal table.

She reached over and grabbed the collar of his tunic, lunging towards his mouth, pressing her own against it.

God his lips felt good. Soft, full, firm...

But he was not close enough, so after a brief parting to drag him to her side of the table, she was pulling him closer, tighter, wrapping her arms around his neck, forgetting that she was pretty goddamn mad at him-

“'’Bout bloody time,” he growled when she paused her kisses to take a breath.

“What?” she panted, placing a halting palm on his chest.

He cocked his head, eyes lingering on her lips. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

He chased her lips for another kiss, maneuvering her so her back was now pressed against the chiller room, rolling his hips into hers so she had no doubt that he was enjoying himself.

God he was a good kisser. Unfairly so. He was almost making her forget - well, everything-

She pulled away again - reluctantly - and lay her head back against the door. “Wait - so all that innuendo was your way of flirting?”

He shrugged and managed to look almost shy while doing it, his lips twisted into a half smile. Emma had spent so much time trying to find reasons to dislike him, she suddenly found herself realizing she actually didn’t dislike him at all.

“I’m usually a lot smoother,” he insisted, his hands slipping to her hips.

Slowly, she melted a little into his embrace, sinking down on her heels as she looked deep into those blue eyes that she had tried desperately hard not to fall for. Her own hands wound tighter about his neck, her fingers slipping into the hair that hung just that little bit too long over his collar.

“Could’ve had me fooled,” she scoffed, enjoying the way her heart was racing and and the little flush she could see rising over his face as she toyed with his hair.

“Well I got the impression early on that you weren’t exactly my biggest fan - that tends to throw a man off his stride.”

She cringed as she thought about the way she had acted around him. “I thought you were after my job,” she admitted.

“And now?” he asked.

For a moment she thought hard, mapping his face, noticing a little scar on his cheek that she had somehow not seen before- “Now I don’t think I know much about you at all.”

“Well perhaps we can change that?" He grinned, looming in once again for another kiss.

And as she returned his attentions, she realized maybe having Killian around for another month wouldn’t be so bad at all.

**  
  
  
  
  
  
**


	25. First Sunday of the Month

The first Sunday of the month. She'd remembered. Lacing her crimson coloured corset, she’d thought of him, the pirate with the startling blue eyes and the silky tongue.

Though he was hardly the first handsome rogue she had come across in her time as owner of the tavern, he was the only one who had managed to quicken her pulse and spark her imagination. Indeed, since she had inherited The Lucky Rabbit, she must have served half the outlaws in the realm. But it was he and he alone who she pictured when in her bed alone at night, he who she imagined laying with her, taking her like some precious plunder.

They’d met but six months earlier. There was something about him and the way he had smiled at her as she poured his ale: it was a smile that asked a hundred questions, one which had her own curiosities hanging on the tip of her tongue. But there was no time for talk - the bar was busy and by the time she had turned back to him he was gone. Disappointment lingered like a bad taste in the back of her throat.

A month later, he was back, slamming down a purse of silver coins on the bar and grinning wildly. If he remembered her, he spoke not of it as she poured his drink. She tried not to be affected by him. With difficulty, she tried to ignore his stares as he sat in a dark corner alone and drank glass after glass, his eyes always on her when she dared glance in his direction. Until just like that, he vanished again.

Three more times he came. Always the first Sunday of a month. She learned his name was Killian Jones and that he captained the ship known as The Jolly Roger. She allowed her self to sit with him for a small while each time, sharing the rum, talking of nothing of importance whilst the questions she burned to ask tormented her.

Who was he really? Why did he come here?

She’d hoped then, that he would be back. Of course there were no assurances. But if he was, she was determined to turn his head in some manner and if a coset could assist her she could see no harm in it.

It was busy; busier than in many months. The weather was turning fairer and the early fruit harvest had brought many merchant vessels to shore. She strained to see him through the crowd that filled the tavern not long after sunset. And there he was. Alone, tucked away in the most hidden corner of the room, a pewter cup and bottle of rum beside him. One of the other girls must have served her and for some reason this vexed Emma.

Finally, the busy period waned and Emma called to her most trusted maid, Belle, “Hold the fort, I have business to attend to.”

The brunette nodded as Emma peeled of her apron and picked up another glass from shelf behind her. Skirts swishing, she made her way around the crowded tables until she reached his, where he sat bathed in the thin light of one candle.

“Mr. Jones,” she nodded.

“Milady,” he replied as she sat. Wordlessly he filled her cup.

Emma sat, sipping the sweet liquid, watching the flame flicker shadows over his stubble covered jaw, wondering how it would feel scraping against her skin-

A few more wordless glasses of rum. A growing want that she couldn’t explain-

He licked his lips before dampening his finger tips and extinguishing the candle. Darkness wrapped around them like a familiar cloak and Emma’s heart began to race.

Suddenly, his lips were on hers, a low moan deep in his throat as she returned his fervour, letting him pull her closer, eventually landing his in his lap. 

Breathless, she chased his kisses, every one letting her a little further into his secrets. He kissed with determination and in a possessive manner, one could see how he was a captain so young. He pulled at her lip with his teeth, raked his fingers under her skirts and up her thighs, thrust his hips forward until she could feel his arousal and had to bite back a cry.

“Emma,” he whispered as he peppered kisses down her neck, his hands reaching around to grasp her buttocks as she began to rock against him.

All around the tavern went on unaware, though the din of drunken voices and the sound of the musicians fiddle drowned out against the sound of her heart bead pounding in her ears.

She wanted him. Needed him.

Now was not the time, her reasonable mind said. But what if he left again? Could she wait a month to quench this thirst for him? And perhaps he wouldn’t return-

Undeterred, her hands when to the laces of his pants. He paused his attentions, cocking a brow when he realised what she was doing. Even in the darkness, she could see the flush of his cheeks and the want in his eyes.

Staring into those eyes, she held his gaze as she pulled his length from the trousers, assessing it’s weight and hardness with her small hands as dampness gathered between her thighs. She bit her lip, raising her body a little as she edged forward and sank herself down, sighing as he embedded himself inside her warmth and his eyelids fluttered with the sensations.

Heavens, he felt good. Thick. Hot. Satisfying.

After a quiet moment, she began to rock against him, aware they were in public but equally understanding the state of her customers come midnight. His hands moved to her hips below her skirts, urging her into a rhythm that came easily as a heartbeat. her thighs were slick with sweat beneath the heavy cotton. Then he began to thrust upwards to meet her movements. Small actions at first, but then faster and more certain, practiced movements of a man who was seeking his partners pleasure. She pressed her mouth closed, the heady sensation taking her away from the tawdry surroundings to somewhere altogether more pleasant.

His hands moved. One turning to the laces of her corset and pulling on the bow that closed it, tugging down the material until one sweet, pink nipple was exposed. He immediately gave it the attentions of his mouth, his other hand moving to where they were joined, circling his thumb, turning the world even darker for her.

Teeth scraping against skin, damp thighs slipping against soft leather, the heat of him, the taste of rum on her tongue, the tension building inside-

And him - Captain Killian Jones, man of mystery and passion and-

He captured her mouth in a kiss as she unravelled above him, his hand massaging her breasts, his hips jutting upwards as he chased his own completion, his breathing stuttering as he came down from the high.

After a few seconds, she looked up through bleary eyes and saw he wore a sated expression that she was sure mirrored her own. She quickly surveyed the tavern and thankfully decided that no-one had seen them. Or at least if they had, they had chosen to ignore the private moment in that dark corner.

Righting her skirts and corset, she slipped from his lap and refilled their glasses as he in turn re-laced his trousers. Already she could feel his release dripping from her, staining her dress. She relished in the feeling, knocking back the rum quickly and refilling her glass as the thrill of what they had just done came over her.

She’d been reckless, thoughtless, careless-

And she couldn’t wait to do it again.

“So sailor, when are you back in port?” she asked nonchalantly.

He smiled and leaned a little closer, “First Sunday of the month. As always.”

And with a wink, he poured back the rest of his rum.


	26. Wanting

It was usually in his bed that they ended up. She has a roommate and that makes things more complicated. Today they barely make it into his apartment before his hands begin to strip her of her clothing. Her dress unzipped with little ceremony before his mouth leads a trail from her neck to between her breasts. She bites her bottom lip, feeding her fingers into his hair, knowing that this is only the beginning of the evenings events.

She’d never had a better lover. She was sure it was because with Killian, she was finally able to set herself free. There was no pressure: no feelings to muddy the waters or make her second guess each action she made. They weren’t trying to impress each other, merely using each other to scratch that intimate itch.

Her bra is left in the hallway, his hands cupping her breasts, teasing her nipples into hardness as she undoes the buttons of his shirt and spreads her palms over his chest. She loves his body: the dark hair that leads down his stomach, the curve of his biceps when he is fucking her, the feel of his ass cupped in her hands as he comes.

There was some debate over whose idea it was, originally. Both single, both not ready for anything, it seemed perfect- especially after a night of drinks. They had known each other for years - a solid friendship that could weather anything. The fact that sexually they just fit, well, that’s a bonus. A one time thing became friends with benefits. Excellent benefits.

His fingers dance over her lace underwear, the grain of the material increasing the intensity of the circles he draws with his thumb as he cups her sex. She pivots her hips, scrambling to undo his jeans. She needs him naked, now.

But he stills her hands, pressing her against the door of his bedroom. His heavy length digs into her stomach as he kisses her - rough, passionate kisses that leave her dizzy and wanting.

She always wants him.

He slings his hands under her ass, his pants hanging open at his waist, slowly walking her to the bed as his lips nip at her neck, finding that torturous spot that makes her squirm and soaks her panties.

Laid out for him on the cool cotton of his comforter, she watches as he teases her breasts, weighing them in his hands, his tongue flicking over their tips before his teeth scrape across them, making her hiss at the contact. Then he snakes his way across her stomach as his hands slip beneath that lace, finding her wet, his groan cutting through her, until he grasps the material with his teeth and slowly drags it away, bearing her pink flesh.

The air is cool against her until his hot tongue slides across her softness. It swirls and twists, drawing circles and figures of eights until she is clenching her fists, panting, wanting-

She tosses back her head as he presses his fingers inside, they search out her most sensitive places as his tongue flicks at her clit.He’s far too good at this, and he knows. It had only taken him a few goes to work out all her sweet spots. Now it was a matter of pride to see how many times he could make her come before he fucked her.

(A first, for her, a guy who actually prioritised her needs.)

Of course she climaxes within minutes, her muscles rippling over the thickness of his fingers, his mouth finding hers to swallow her cries, smearing her essence across her lips, the taste only intensifying the powerful sensations coursing through her body.

Her breathing shudders a moment. His hands run over her curves, breasts, hips, thighs. She loves the way his hands feel on her skin. Rough skin, large, so manly and primal.

“Emma,” he sighs, his eyes darkening when the focus returns to her vision. The way he looks at her…

A moment later, her hand is around his neck, pulling him into a kiss, her legs splaying apart, welcoming him into her heat. She gasps when his erection rests against her. Hard and perfect. Oh God she love show he feels inside her. She rocks against him, the simple movement reigniting her need for him.

“Need you inside me,” she whispers. His eyes briefly close. She wonders what he is thinking.

“Aye,” he whispers, one hand resting on the bed beside her, the other taking her ankle and pressing her leg back against her body.

He waits. She can feel every pulse of her heartbeat. He looks her over. Unashamedly naked, she pushes out her chest. He looks like a man starved, a feast before him. Her body burns hotter than she could ever imagine as his cock eases between her folds, becoming slick with her want for him, teasing her-

She tilts her hips; his tip barely within her. Her breath catches in her throat, preparing for the burn of him.

Oh, she loves the burn.

He stares into her eyes now, and she is frozen in pace. Those blue eyes as addictive as ever, so many secrets hidden behind them, so beautiful, so devastating.

With aching care and precession, he slides forward, sinking into her welcoming body. She almost cries from the relief as he opens her up. He studies her face for a moment, she can see he is holding his breath as their bodies slip together that last final piece. It feels so good - to be full with him, so perfect and delicious. His hand strokes her thigh and she shivers, his other hand moves up to cup her face, his thumb dipping between her lips until she bites it softly.

“Swan-“

He stills his words, his mouth closes.

She wants to know what he was going to say, but it’s too late, he’s moving his hips. Slowly, gently.

She loses herself in the ebb and flow of Killian Jones, rocking back against him every few thrusts, but mainly letting him take her. Sometimes she liked to be in charge, but not tonight. She wanted to feel owned. She wanted him to show her how much he needed her.

Soon, too soon, a climax builds. She doesn’t always come first, but today she’s been wound up so tight all day for him, ever since she saw him across the bar, talking to that redhead. She was half gone before they’d even kissed.But its the gentle tilting of his hips, his fingers pressing into her skin, his mouth meeting her neck and she’s gone for him, sobbing into his shoulder.

“Oh, Killian-“

As a rule, they don’t speak much during sex. Sometimes they dirty talk, and she likes it. But more often than not now it’s simple moans and cries of the others name. She hasn’t read too much into it.

(She can’t-)

Before she can take a breath, he’s snapping his hips, rocking powerfully into her. She jolts upwards in the bed, her hands cling onto his biceps as he continues. Taking, taking, taking-

But he gives too- twisting, pressing, hands against her breasts, fingers circling her clit. She’s adrift in his storm. She never wants to leave-

Impossibly, she’s spiralling again. Her voice not her own, as she pants an cries and lets out every feeling he has built in her.

Then he is there. HIs movements gaining more purpose. He grasps her face, his breath shudders, his eyes boring into hers until that last second where they snap closed and pure bliss washes over his handsome features.

She wraps her ankles around his hips, holding him inside her as he presses a kiss to her cheek and then sinks to her chest, her breasts pillowing his head. She runs her hand through his damp hair.

Their breathing slips into tandem. Her skin cools. He pulls a sheet over their naked bodies, still entwined.

Then she knows, something that she had been hiding from for so long. She loves him. She loves this beautiful man with all her heart. And she doesn’t know what to do about it.

 

 


	27. Wanting- Killian

It doesn’t feel awkward, that’s his first thought when he wakes up with Emma Swan naked beside him in his bed. Her hair fans out behind her, like glorious golden flames, as she lays curled on her side, the comforter tucked under her chin. She looks like she belongs there upon his white sheets.

He doesn’t look for a way to get her to leave, which he would usually do (not that he does one night stands very often- is this a one night stand?). It seems natural to head to the kitchen and make a pot of coffee, to bring her a mug and watch her as she rouses, a faint blush on her cheeks as she clutches the sheet around her body when she sits to take it from him.

No, it doesn’t feel awkward, or strange, that one of his closest friends should now know him so intimately. It feels… good.

/

Weeks now- months really, it has been happening for. Once became maybe we should try that again and then, well, it never became a regular thing in the sense it was planned, but more often than not an evening out with friends would end up with them back at his place (and even during the week- ‘I’m bored’ she would text and, well…).

He’s swirling his tongue in her delicious heat. She tastes sweet and musky. It only makes him harder, making her come. He loves watching her writhe and squirm underneath him, likes to note the times her breath catches and the things that make her moan.

God, she’s glorious.

He knows her, inside and out (quite literally).

Their little friendship group had met for drinks that night. The pair hadn’t spoken much, but he’d watched her, as she became loose from the liquor, the way she tossed back her head and laughed- Even when a knockout redhead had approached him the bar, he’d only had eyes for her. She was so alive and vital. After being friends for years he could read her like a book. He loved the level of comfort they had reached. Rare and special.

It made the sex, frankly, amazing. He could be totally honest with Emma- what he thought, what he felt, what he wanted to do to her-

She comes and then he’s kissing her, wet slippery kisses, smearing her essence across her lips and cheeks, her tongue is hot and insistent and he needs to be inside her. He craves that glorious place between her legs where he feels complete and at peace (and desperate and wanting-).

Teasing tilts of hips and fingers pressing into flesh are a precursor for that moment where he finally sinks into her body. She fits him snug and neat, firing off all his senses. He loves this. The two of them, they do this so well. It feels so right. It’s by far the best he has ever had.

And yes, it’s partly because she is stunningly beautiful and sexy. But it’s more than that- it’s because he knows her so well and she knows him. There’s none of that awkwardness which can pervade intimate moments.

He lets himself become adrift in her. Toeing that line between his own pleasure and what he knows she needs, he gives and takes, equal parts teasing and gentle, searing and powerful.

It’s a crime that such pleasure should end. Wrapped in her softness, he wants to stay like this forever. Heaven.

And then the part he really loves. He teases her to an orgasm, once, twice- (that’s rare, he feels that male pride-) and then he knows he can let himself free. He catches her eye, cupping her face, watching her expression change as he chases that high. It’s tightening like a spring, his hips snapping, his fingers pressing into the flesh of her thigh, the wetness between her legs so slippery and sexy-

A flash of something, just that second before he comes. A flicker of an expression across her face before all clear thought disappears for a moment and the ripples of pleasure course through every inch of his body.

(High, he’s soaring-)

She pulls him to her as he comes down, holding him. His body cooling as the release fades away. Only that expression still on his mind.

Intimate. Amazed. Loving.

He holds her close and he understands. It wasn’t meant to happen - he knows this wasn’t what they had agreed to. He knows-

Hell. He knows he loves her. Every part of her.

And now he must tell Emma Swan, reveal this development. Because one thing they have is honesty. She prizes honesty above all else.

But not yet, for now he will enjoy these moments before he changes everything.


	28. Knowing and Understanding

_ smut prompt: close friends that were always in love but never got the chance to be together (timing etc). They both know how the other feels, and with only one night left they decide to give in to what could have been, before they have to say goodbye to it (and possibly each other) for good. (one's getting married in the morning or something) Angsty smut! :D _

 

 

A lingering glance. A soft smile. A desperate yearning that wouldn’t fade. So much communicated between them without a word. Emma sighs into her wine glass. There just isn’t enough time. There are so many things that remain unsaid between her and Killian. But her bags are packed and a cab booked for 8 am. She is leaving and it was too late. Best leave things unsaid.

The party is in full swing. After a year in London she has returned to essentially say goodbye to Storybrooke forever. Her temporary transfer is being made permanent. The life she has created for herself over there awaited. The new friendships she has formed. The small apartment that she would soon share with Simon.

_ Good, dependable, kind Simon.  _

She tries not to think of him as her eyes seek out Killian. He’s done a good job of avoiding her that night. He was still hurt, she knew. The way his face had gone cold when she’d told him she was leaving for good was something she would never forget.

He’d thought she was coming home. He’d thought-

She doesn’t want to dwell on that.

Tipping back her glass, she pulls on a practised smile and pushes her way through the crowd.

/

Leaving had been a childish thing to do. She knew that now.

It had been last summer. The gang had spent a weekend camping. Bugs, tents and campfires. It was everything she loved and more about living in New England. The scent of pine needles and wood smoke so vivid and evocative. Killian was there, of course. He was one of her closest friends. Had been, well, forever. Since they were teens.

But that’s it. Just friends. 

All through their friendship one or the other of them had been in a relationship. _ Neal. Milah. Walsh. Tina _ . They were always there to be a shoulder to cry on when the other had relationship woes and pick up the pieces when they inevitably fell apart. There was never a chance of anything more. Timing, you know. Which is not to say she hadn’t considered it.

Killian was that good kind of handsome. Not intimidating in his beauty, but breathtaking all the same, with strong arms and a stunning smile. But he was more than that. As much as he was good looking, he was a good person and a good man. Real salt of the earth. That’s not to say he was perfect, but he had fought his demons and never made excuses for his mistakes. She admired that.

The week before the trip, Emma had finally ended her long running on/off relationship with Walsh O’Connor. Stretching over two years, with as much time on the outs as actually together, she’d finally grown tired of his lies and broken promises and was more than a little relieved when she’d actually caught him cheating and he had given her an excuse to end things. They were not right for each other at all, he’d just been… convenient, she guessed. 

So that weekend, they were both single.

And that weekend had opened her eyes. She’d let herself think about what something between them could be like. And she liked what she saw. His easy smiles and warmth, the care he’d shown for her and their friends, his adventurous side that had him climbing trees and scrambling over rivers. He was just so very… something. The trip had kicked the dirt up on a whole bunch of feelings she’d never let herself think about.

Once home, she’d ruminated on those feelings for hours, before picking up her keys and driving to his place. The lights were on. She’d knocked on the door, her nerves jangled, not even quite sure what she was going to say.

Then she’d answered.  _ Milah _ . Only a cotton sheet around her.

He’d been a few steps behind, their eyes met. She tried to hide her upset but it was impossible. She’s smiled and made up some bullshit excuse that she couldn’t remember before pretty much running to her car, blocking out the sound of him calling her name.

A week later a position in London became available. A fresh start. She had no ties, just an aching heart. So she said yes.

/

Later, the sky is dark. All the inky purple of the sunset has faded into black. She has a missed call from Simon but it is late, will be past midnight for him now, so she pushes the phone back in her pocket. Promises herself she will call in the morning.

Outside is quiet. Autumn is nipping at the heels of summer and most people are clawing at the warmth of the small house she had once shared with friends. They kept her room when she moved, always saying it was there, for when she returned. Because she had meant to.

But then burying herself in work and all the logistics of setting up somewhere new took over. She was busy - almost busy enough to forget her feelings for Killian, at least until he texted or emailed. Funny, he never mentioned that night. She didn’t ask. It was almost easy then to dismiss the little happy feeling whenever he messaged her. It was like that night hadn’t happened.

(Maybe she had dreamed it.)

And then Simon had came along and he was kind and caring and wanted to take care of her. So she let him. From there, it was easy to say yes to staying on, to believe that she could be really happy in London.

(Couldn’t she?)

She’s ruminating on that thought as she sips her rose. 

“You alright, love?”

“Killian,” she whispers, without looking. She feels him take his place beside her on the decking, both resting a hand on the balustrade that runs along it. The garden is big, a perk of being on the outskirts of town, with a lush lawn heading down towards a small wooded area of trees and flower beds.

She clasps her hand tighter around the wine glass. “I’m good. The party is great. Thanks.”

“No problem. One of Storybrooke’s finest deserves the best of send offs.”

He looks her way, a lazy smirk on his lips, but his eyes are sad. They don’t rise up as they usually do when he smiles, they lack the lustre she always associates with him.

“I appreciate it.”

They let themselves drown in the white noise coming from the party behind them. He shifts a little closer and she automatically tilts her body, angling it towards his heat.

“Are you happy?” he asks, unexpectedly, placing his glass of rum - she knows it’s rum - on the railing.

“Um,” she fumbles, not really sure how to answer. She could ask him what he means - but she knows.  _ She knows. _

“I’m not unhappy,” she finally answers, feeling all the patheticness of that cop out.

She isn’t  _ unhapppy _ . She likes her job, it’s challenging enough but gives her enough space to have a life. She likes her London apartment and all the quirky aspects of Britishness that she has discovered. There’s nothing  _ bad  _ about her current situation.

But maybe nothing great, her heart whispers.

“That’s not really an answer, is it?” 

He turns, almost imperceptibly, until his hip nudges against her and his face is mere inches away. So handsome, as always, but even more in the half light- all shadows and angles. It is a face she knows so well, one she had seen wear a thousand expressions. But yet not this one.

This is a dangerous line of questioning, especially with the dancing around each other they had done for the past few days. She knows the honest answer, but saying it loud was risky and foolish. The time has passed- maybe it was never there after all-

“I’m content,” she settles for, looking past him at the little fairy lights that are strung amongst the bushes.

Maybe that’s it, the end of the conversation. That’s enough, right? To be content-

“I’m miss you,” he admits, his voice low and gentle. 

Her heart sinks. It’s what she was afraid to hear.

Because now those clear waters that were leading her back to London are becoming muddy and uncertain.

_ But she can’t lie. _ “I miss you too, Killian.”

A hand slips to her waist, tugging her closer to his side. She hisses out a breath. It’s a little too much to process. She tips another mouthful of wine past her lips.

“Don’t go,” he whispers.

She tilts her head until it’s barely touching his shoulder. So much is being unsaid. She can barely stand it.

“I have to I,” she replies. She does. She’s made a commitment. People are depending on her-

Until she turns to look at him, sees in his eyes the same expression she knows she wears. It’s yearning and regret and so much missed opportunity.

Her hand snakes upwards, her fingers slipping around his neck. Her thumb brushes against his collarbone. She’s glad he’s wearing an open necked shirt. Blue, with the sleeves rolled up a little. It suits him. (It i _ s  _ him.)

(She has missed him.)

“Don’t,” he repeats.

She thinks of London. Of the flight ticket sitting in her email account. Of the cases packed and the boxes that the shipping company will be picking up next week. 

And Simon. He drifts through her thoughts.

It doesn’t stop her reaching up on her toes, urging his lips to hers, kissing him. 

/

Waiting was torture. Pretending that everything was fine when inside her world was imploding.  _ In the best way. _

Their garden kiss had been brief. They both knew it wouldn’t end there. But there is a party and people and-

Thankfully he lives only a few blocks away, in a tiny little cottage that he’s rented for almost five years. 

The party winds down, she sees him leave, she yawns, says she needs to sleep.

The remaining guests don’t notice that she actually slips away, her feet breaking into a run as she makes her way to him. His door is ajar, just a little. She tumbles inside. She’s breathing so hard; the running, the need for him.

He’s there a second later. Capturing her in his arms, pulling from her a kiss. But this kiss is different to their earlier one. It’s dirty and desperate and teeth and hands and tongues and-

They tumble backwards. She loses her shoes and jacket, his shirt is half unbuttoned before she grows impatient and tears at it, snapping buttons, bearing his chest to her. Her hands roam over his skin. His lips find her neck, his tongue tracing a trail that his teeth follow, his fingers tug at her pony tail until her hair falls over her shoulders.

She’s backed up against the little table in the hallway - the one where keys and little pieces lay. He lifts her onto it, her legs splay apart, she wraps her ankles around his thighs and leans into his kiss.

“Please,” she begs. She doesn’t know for what.  _ Just more. _

And more he provides. Her blouse is pulled away. He noses at the silk cups of her bra. “Christ, Emma,” he mutters into her skin, “I’ve wanted- so long-”

She knows. She understands.

They waited and waited until it was too late.

(It’s too late now. This is wrong and-)

(She doesn’t care.)

She loves his body. Lean, strong, he runs- she used to run with him occasionally. His skin is soft, the hair on his chest giving a delightful friction under her hands. His actions are making her burn up for him.

(It’s never like this with-  _ no, she can’t think that-) _

“Please,” she repeats, “I need-”

He knows. He understands.

His bedroom is mere paces away. He carries her like she weighs nothing. Kissing, touching, feeling- Every press of his fingertips leaving a burn.

Naked feels natural with him. Her clothes discarded in seconds. Then he works on his as she stands and watches. She wants to touch. He’s hard for her, thick and heavy - she imagines how he will feel, in her hand, inside her- He drags her hips closer, his erection between them, one hand holds her close, the other presses and caresses her breasts, just the right side of hard, enough for her to really feel.

Then he stills. She looks up. He’s watching her, his lips still damp and pink from their kiss. His hair ruffled. 

“I-” he begins, then his brow furrows.

She knows. She understands.

“Shhh,” she whispers, pressing a fingertip against his lip. “Tonight,” she says. Not really sure what she means, but it seems enough. He nods.

It’s easy to fall onto the bed. To explore one another. Dips and curves, flat planes and softness. She gasps when his fingers dance between her legs, sliding over her, teasing at her, dipping into her dampness, twirling and twisting-

So she takes him, weighs him in her hands, bites her lips when a finger slides inside her, imagines it is another part of him. Her toes clench, she tightens her grasp. They rock into each other. Just a taste. A tease. 

“God-”

“Fuck-”

“Just there-” she pants.

“Christ,” he groans, “I need-”

She needs it too. This isn’t enough.

She urges his mouth to her breast. She loves them to be touched and kissed- and he is, well, with him it’s- wow. Hands and lips and something beneath it all. She’s all twisted up, her body contorting.

“More,” she pleads. 

He tilts up his head, burning blue catches her breath. 

_ An understanding. A mutual need- _

“More,” she says again.

He knows. He understands.

He pushes her further onto the bed. She licks her lips.

(She should be thinking clearly, condoms and- fuck. She’s on the pill. She trusts him.)

Stalking over her, caging her in with his limbs, he takes himself and runs his tip through her dampness. She shudders. Soft, hard, heat.  The slide that follows is quick - she’s so ready for him - a easy, fluid motion, and she’s full and it feels right and oh why, oh why did they wait-

(It’s too late now, isn’t it?)

Ebb and flow. Give and take. They move easily, the little kinks and missteps smoothed over. No awkwardness. Eyes locked on one another more often than not. 

“This is- Emma-”

“Yes,” she cries, her teeth digging into his shoulder to stop her saying more.

Then she nudges him, pushing him onto his back. She wants to look at him, to see him as he comes.

Her her hips rock, his cock shifting so perfectly inside her, tilting forward so her clit receives a little pressure. Her breasts are within easy reach of his hands. He presses his thumbs against their peaks. She bites her lip. 

So good.

Faster, she rocks; harder, she moves. 

He pants and moans and she knows he is close. She wants to tip him over the edge.

“Emma, I’m-”

She can feel him trying to pull away. He’s there. She wants-

“Inside me,” she says, bending down to kiss him as he comes, swallowing his cries, grasping tightly onto his shoulders-

She’s dizzy and lightheaded-

His head falls back. Silence falls between them. Brief but sweet.

“Did you-?

She shakes her head. It wasn’t about that. She doesn’t care-

He’s kissing her again, rolling her over, slipping out of her, lips travelling down her body.

“Oh,” she gasps, when his tongue finds her, swollen and wet.

And it’s not hard for her to fall. It feels like she has been dropped from a height. The room is spinning. She can’t make out exact movements, just feelings. He’s insistent and relentless. She crumbles, curling upon herself.

“Killian!”

Every nerve fires, every muscle stretches.

/

It’s later. They must have dozed off, but it’s still dark. His hand is tangled in her hair. Her face nestled against his neck.

“Killian?” she whispers.

He sighs.

“I have to, you know, go.”

She feels him stiffen beside her.

“Just tonight,” she adds, to his unspoken question. 

He trails his hand down her back, as if memorising her shape. Then he kisses her one more time. A kiss of meaning and regret.

“I’m sorry,” she apologises as she slips on her clothes, then before she can think again, she leaves.

/

He isn’t really sure how he managed to fall asleep again after she left. Maybe it was pure mental exhaustion. The past few days had been so hard. He’d hoped this was a real chance for them when she’d said she was coming home. He’d not stopped thinking about her the whole year she was gone. Then she was coming back, but then, she wasn’t. 

She’d be gone, maybe forever.

He had to say something. Too many chances had passed to share how he felt, always thinking there would be another. He’d wanted to use words. He’d wanted to say it. I love you.

Instead, he’d loved her in another way.

He awakes, eyes bleary, heart heavy. He checks his phone. It’s 9am. No messages.

She’ll be on her way now. Back to him. The man he has never met yet feels so jealous of.

The pillow beside him bears her outline. His skin smells of her perfume. He knows he won’t wash for days. His sheets will stay the same for longer.

Yes, it’s foolish and crazy- but he can’t let this dream of her go. Not yet.

He pulls on some boxers and a t-shirt, decides he needs coffee. He needs to be busy today. To not think.

Maybe he’ll go to work, do some overtime.

He’s making a cup of tea, taking out a tea bag, filling the kettle when he hears it. A creak. 

He stills, ears pricking up.

Soft footsteps.

_ It’s her _ . Face tired, hair pulled up on top of her head, baggy jeans and a hoodie.

She looks perfect.

“Sorry,” she whispers, pausing a few steps from him. “I left- I shouldn’t have-”

He’s beside her, pulling her to him, shushing her words.

“You’re here,” he says, “You came back.”

She snakes her arms around his waist, he holds her so tight. He never wants to let her go again.

They stay like that for an indeterminate amount of time. They sway into each other.

She looks up at him.

She loves him. She knows what love is. It’s never felt quite like this but she knows. She understands.

“I love you,” she tells him.

He runs his hand over her face, tracing its curves with his thumb.

“I love you,” he echoes, watching as a happy smile breaks out across her face. Wide and broad and real-

So he kisses her. How many kisses have they now shared? He’s lost count. It just feels so natural. So right.

She pulls away. A hand on his chest. A speech she practised on the way over, melting into a few words. “This will be complicated. London… Simon.”

In all this, it’s her regret. He doesn’t deserve this.

“I know,” he promises, “I understand.”

A kiss on her cheek, he leads her to his little kitchen table, places the kettle on the hob.

“First, tea?”

She nods. She smiles.

She knows there is so much to do, so much to decide.

But one thing at a time. One thing at a time.


	29. Inter office relations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secretly dating coworker :D from a tumblr prompt.

There was always an elicit little thrill when they found a moment to be alone during the hours of nine and five. An empty conference room. A cleaning closet. Or, as in this case, a disused office on the tenth floor.

Emma sighed happily as Killian Jones placed soft, teasing kisses down her neck. Her leg was hitched up around his waist, his erection pressing against her as she mentally congratulated herself on choosing a flared skirt that morning. The desk dug into the back of her thighs as he pressed harder against her, his urgent kisses and touches almost unbearably hot.

There was a thrill in what they were doing. Sure, it was their lunch hour, but employees were not expected to fuck on the premises. Actually, employees were not allowed to fuck  _off_ the premises. Mills media had a strict non fraternisation policy that Emma Swan had tried really hard to stick too when Killian Jones has joined from the London office. Handsome and gregarious, she’d berated herself for wanting more from him, until a mutual late night led to an offer of a drink and, well, here they were.

 _Insatiable_ , that is.

It was still early, the first few heady months where the need for each other outweighed other basic needs. They dialled back their hormones as much as possible during office hours, settling for lustful stares when no one was looking or covert text conversations using their personal phones. But sometimes - like now - things would spill over.

~earlier~

Swan…

_Yes Jones?_

That blouse, fuck, I can see your bra. Bad form, love.

_And the problem is…?_

Tease

_You love it_

You love me fucking you

_Jones…_

Are you wet?

Are you imagining me fucking you?

Bent over that little desk of yours, arse on display for the whole office to see-

-

Swan?

_Tenth floor. Meet me in five._

~

So here they were, perfectly aware that being caught would be career suicide, half listening for sounds on the otherwise deserted floor, her blouse undone, his tie askew.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she moaned as he sucked on her pulse point. His hands slid up her thighs and began to toy with the lace of her underwear.

“I believe this was your idea,” he chuckled, pulling back to give her a searing kiss as his fingers found their way beneath the lace.

“Details,” she mumbled into his mouth, her own hand working on his pants, undoing the zipper, desperate to feel his heat.

His fingers worked their magic, spreading her arousal, sliding inside her and making her squirm in anticipation of the best sex she had ever had. Would she ever tire of it? (She hoped not.)

Her panties were discarded and she was hoisted up onto the desk as he fumbled in his back pocket, pulling out the familiar foil square.

“You were pretty optimistic,” she panted as he raised a brow.

“I prefer hopeful,” he purred as he pulled on the condom and fixed her with a look that made her stomach drop and the wetness between her legs intensify. “Hold on, love,” he whispered, as he lined himself up, pressing into her with quick little motions, before with a final push he was fully seated. And everything was right with the world, the stars alined, world peace had been achieved-

She clutched onto him, as he rocked into her, both careful to stifle their groans, the forbidden nature of what they were doing making it that much hotter. It was so wrong - hell, she’d never have even considered something like this before him and now she was suggesting work hours sex in their building. He was intoxicating her. His mind. His wit. His body…

_Oh, his body._

There was no preamble on this occasion. They both needed quick and dirty. A release from the tension of wanting each other and their stressful jobs. Her hands found his ass and her fingers pressed into the perfect muscle as he found his rhythm, a hand slipping between them to help her on her way, his cock hitting her in just the right place to make a twin effort to help her reach an orgasm. A release that rocketed through her within minutes, every muscle in her body alive, her toes cramping, her teeth biting onto his neck, holding back the urge to moan his name.

Fuck.

She was dizzy as he found his own high, the gentle slide back into full consciousness peppered with heavy breathing and the expression on his face as he came - pure bliss lighting up his features.

Satisfied, Emma felt a comfortably looseness take over her body, that giddy post-orgasm sensation where for at least a little while, everything is right with the world. He kissed her as he pulled away, dealing with the condom and then straightening his clothes as she did the same.

She watched as he pulled his fingers though his hair and fasted his belt. A feeling surged through her. 

“I love you,” she sighed, before slapping a hand to her mouth.

She hadn’t meant to say that. She hadn’t even really allowed herself to think that-

She felt her face begin to turn crimson, she clawed at the buttons of her blouse, wanting the floor to open up and swallow her. They hadn’t had this conversation yet, anything close to it - in fact she’d been avoiding the discussion of deeper feelings more than want and desire. Fuck.

But then he was smiling, walking back to her, cupping her face and kissing her. Sweetly. Tenderly. Lovingly.

“I love you too, Emma,” he whispered, staring into her eyes for a moment until she opened her lips to protest. He placed a single fingertip on her mouth. “Hush, don’t spoil it. We can talk about this later.”

Then with a brief kiss to her forehead, and a knowing smile, he quietly left the office- and her to her new found understanding.

She loved him.


	30. Untitled

**I was prompted bed sharing so I used this: Your mate has taken your room to get lucky after the party. You’re my roommate and I can’t make you sleep on that shitty couch…**

_Not smut really but on the mature side..._

It was the right thing to do. She couldn’t make Killian sleep on that couch - it was worn with springs that liked to bite you in the ass at the most unexpected moments. And she had a king size bed. Plenty of room.

“Least I can do,” she smiled when he asked again if this was okay, dancing in her doorway with his hip hugging jeans and permanently ruffled hair.

 _Of course it was_. They were roommates, had been for three months now. Craigslist had not failed her for once, providing someone who was neat and gainfully employed. In the time that had lived together in the downtown loft, they had become friends.  _Amigos. Amis. Etc._ But she wasn’t blind. It didn’t hurt that he was just about the hottest man she had even came across. With an achingly beautiful face and a set of manners that would make the most suspicious mother swoon and beg him to marry their daughter. Far too good for anyone as messed as up her.

She tucked that thought away as she dove into the bathroom to change, leaving him to get under the covers. The party had been to celebrate his birthday. It had been deemed a success when her friends had really gotten along with his friends. So good that his best mate was now getting friendly with her best friend in his room. She couldn’t wait to tease Mary Margaret come the morning. Her friend rarely did anything that spontaneous so she knew this must be something special. That realization sent a little pang of longing for her own special someone to her heart. It had been a long time since Walsh and he’d turned out to be such a cliched asshole that she’d well and truly climbed back into her shell when it came to men.

Speaking of men... She returned to see he’d shucked off his jeans, leaving them neatly folded on the bedside table, but thankfully had left on his t-shirt. She’d caught him once coming out of the shower, just a week after he had moved in, and that image was not only seared on her memory but had made her flush so wildly she’d almost ran back to her room. The smattering of hair that covered his firm chest and the enticing trail that led down beneath the towel wrapped around his slim hips had made her mouth dry. It wasn’t the body of a man who slaved at the gym - but someone who worked and used his hands every day. And that made it an all the more erotic sight to her starved eyes.

The door closed behind her. Pulling awkwardly on the sleeves of her flannel pyjamas, Emma smiled thinly as he watched her walk towards the bed.

“Hey,” she smiled, chewing on her bottom lip as he shifted to give her more space. “So, good party?”

“Hmm,” he nodded, his blue eyes sparkling mysteriously.  “Quite.”

There seemed to be loaded meaning to his answer, the way his gaze flitted over her and his voice became soft and gruff. She made herself look away.

Her heart was hammering as she turned of the little bedside lamp and tried to settle. She half wished she’d drank herself into a happy drunken lull- that way she’d be able to ignore the hot sensation of him being so close (and in her bed) and just fall asleep. Instead she listened to her pulse pound in her ears and the mingling of their breathing as it fell into tandem. 

She shrugged herself into the bed a little more. He cleared his throat. 

Then the faint sounds of bed springs and moans filtered from his room across the hall. Emma couldn’t hold back a nervous laugh. “I’d say Dave owes you big time Jones.”

“And why would that be, love?”

 _God_ , she loved it when he called her that. He did it every now and again and it never failed to send a shiver down her spine and straight to her lady parts. She heard him turn onto his side, the old iron bed creaking. She fixed her gaze on the little crack that ran down the centre of the ceiling.

“You know, he and Ms… in your bed…”

She could feel herself turning red. Oh damn, she was not that person to get shy about talk of sex. What the hell was wrong with her? She clenched her toes and tried to pull herself together.

“ _Oh_ ,” she head him sigh. The covers shifted a little. She chanced a glance his direction and her breath caught at the way he was looking at her.

His eyes were that dark shade of sapphire she had only seen a few times. His lips tantalising, their edges curved in a half smile, his upper teeth biting down on his full bottom lip.

“What?” she asked, her blush deepening as his eyes dipped.

He seemed for a moment almost… shy. Confident, gregarious Killian Jones, the man who could light up a room with his megawatt smile was looking away from her like an inexperienced school boy. It gave her an unexpected thrill. And a sense of trepidation.

“Perhaps it was good fortune on my part.”

Her breathing caught. She found her self slowly turning her body to face him, her hands resting on the comforter where it dipped between their bodies. The material spanning the space that was slowly filling with a delicious friction.

“Oh yeah?” she asked, with an attempt at a flippant shrug.

He nodded, his tongue darting to moisten the blanched portion of his lips where his teeth had worried against the flesh.

Suddenly, she felt emboldened. His gaze darkened, drinking her in, making her feel... desired. As crazy as that felt in flannel pajamas and scraped back hair.

She splayed out her fingers. “So, is my bed more comfortable than yours?”

He shook his head, his hand sliding from his hip to a few inches from hers.

She parted her lips, studying the handsome curves and lines of his face, relishing in this closeness... it was almost like there was something there-

“Are my pillows… fluffier?”

He shook his head again, this time increasing that little smile of his, showing a hint of white teeth, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Her stomach did a little somersault...

“So what could persuade Killian Jones that leaving his 1000 thread count sheets was a good thing?”

The question lingered, like a tantalising treat hanging by a thread. Emma held her breath, for a second thinking she had been mistaken-

“You,” he whispered, the word dancing in the air between them, her heart giving a little leap as she felt her insides melt...

He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek, the apprehension on his face clear until she smiled, dimples puncturing those cheeks. His thumbs brushed across the curves of her face and she let her eyes flicker closed in pleasure, until she gave a soft shriek when one hand moved to her hip and he pulled her towards him. 

Their bodies flush, she swallowed hard. His firm against her softness, his breath sweet with the scent of rum, his fingers flexing against her flesh.

Her limbs tingled. Her lips ached. Her whole body radiated with need.

“Me?” she asked, her voice breathless.

He replied with a kiss. At first soft, pliant, the barest whisper until she arched her chin, giving him more access, inviting him to tangle himself into her. Pushing her onto her back until she slid her legs around his hips, cradling him as their embrace becoming heated. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling out the pins that held it in place. She slid her palms beneath his shirt, relishing in the silk of his skin. She was scorching hot, coming alive beneath his touch, an unspoken dream being realised with every stroke of his tongue.

Time seemed to melt away. Finally, reluctantly, he placed his damp forehead against hers, resting himself on his forearms so she could catch her breath.

“That was…” she panted, laying her palms onto his chest, her whole body alive, every nerve sparking.

“Amazing,” he finished, snatching another brief kiss, his eyes dancing in a blue haze of lust and something more.

Emma smiled, before slowly shaking her head.

“Just the beginning,” she clarified, before shifting him onto his back and resuming their embrace.

To hell with the consequences. Whatever this was, she was going to enjoy it.


End file.
